


Soft Voice That Whispers Life

by choicescarfsylveon



Series: SBAIY 'verse [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blaine Character Study, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Goes AU after Season 3 Episode 5, Heavy Drinking, Klaine Break-Up, Light BDSM With Dubious Consent, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, The Sebklaine Happens In A Dream, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-02-03 23:08:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12758058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choicescarfsylveon/pseuds/choicescarfsylveon
Summary: Blaine deals with the aftermath of finding out about Kurt and Sebastian.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This fic is Blaine's point of view / what he was doing during the events of [ Should Be An Interesting Year](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11162142/chapters/24912540). Basically starts from Chapter 5 and interpolates through Chapter 19. It requires knowledge of the prequel but I'll be linking to the corresponding SBAIY chapters for context.
> 
> Divided into two parts because Holy Shit Long
> 
> The SBAIY ‘verse is basically canon up until “The First Time,” the major change being that Rachel never attended McKinley, and Tina was the “Rachel” in the story you already know. SBAIY skips over the rest of Kurt’s senior year/Blaine’s junior year until Kurt is starting college at Ohio State. Kurt arrives there to discover that his roommate is none other than Sebastian Smythe, who he still hates.
> 
> At least, only for a while. Eventually, the two of them start to see eye-to-eye. Unbeknownst to Kurt, Sebastian has fallen for him.
> 
> Blaine feels like the only who can see the writing on the walls.
> 
>    
> Title from and story inspired by Emarosa's "[We Are Life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQAMlBczD0Q)“

 

 

**_Soft Voice That Whispers Life_ **

_Part One_

 

 

 

Blaine Anderson has always had an active imagination. When he was young, his ability to transport himself to any world at any time served as a form of escape. His traditional, strict, and loving-only-from-a-distance parents certainly provided financially. Enrolling their son in every extracurricular in the book, they never had any hesitations about price. But little Blaine often used to feel forced into those things by guilt, especially when he couldn’t learn each of them perfectly.

 

When piano lessons were rough, and soccer lessons were hard, and Cooper, five years his senior, was always better, little Blaine imagined himself a wizard, a dragon slayer, or even a princess, sometimes, to get away. When he got older, his imaginings of himself became smaller, more realistic, and unfortunately, not as effective as they had once been. When he started high school, Blaine’s parents wanted straight As in school, nothing less, no exceptions. That feat would turn out to be harder at McKinley than at Dalton.

 

The private school’s curriculum had been much more rigorous, but Blaine had had the resources and solitude to focus. When he transferred, however? Kurt Hummel was exactly the kind of teenaged fuel and fodder that made Blaine’s active imagination go off the rails: long, lithe, dancer’s legs; the most beautiful set of eyes Blaine had ever seen on a person; and that velveteen, countertenor voice that drove him absolutely insane; Kurt could read the phone book to him and he’d feel blessed.

 

Waltzing through McKinley’s halls specifically to romance Kurt Hummel soon became priority number one for Blaine Anderson. That was why when Kurt left McKinley and Lima to dorm, Blaine finally had enough spare time to take stock of his life: here he was now, a senior in high school at a kinda-dingy public school where his only real friend had been his boyfriend, no idea where he wanted to go to college, and grades that had slipped to a B minus average last year.

 

As Mike Chang had once so eloquently put it: an A minus is an Asian F. Blaine is only half Filipino, but the rule still applies. He’s known it all too well in his house...

 

 

 

 

Its early October and Blaine sits between his parents at the dinner table, silently pushing chow mein around his plate. He knows Principal Figgins called them earlier with the report about his individual test grades that the man somehow _wants_ to give them every week. He knows that they know about the Bs. They won’t _talk_ to him, though, opening their mouths only to speak to each other about how the food from Mei Wing’s has decreased in quality lately.

 

Blaine just wants them to say it instead of ignoring him.

 

“Mom, Dad,” he says, finally putting his fork down—like he’s going to be able to eat with the way his anxiety’s been today— “I’m sorry about my grades this week. I knew the Calculus test was out of my reach, but I chose not to go to tutoring.”

 

His parents stare at each other before responding. His mother’s blue eyes show perhaps a slight want to be sympathetic, but his father’s dark eyes roll. Their silent conversation then ends when Mr. Anderson looks down to resume his meal.

 

His mother sighs, turns to Blaine, translates.

 

“That’s not an excuse. You’d have plenty of time to study if you’d stop playing in Glee club, comics club, United Nations...”

 

She goes on to list the things that Blaine has stacked on his agenda—things they told him he _should_ do when he’d told them about them—and explains that he shouldn’t have taken on the work if he wasn’t going to be able to do it properly. His father doesn’t look up once during his mother’s extrapolations. She also reminds him, as usual, that he shouldn’t be “staying up so late to talk on the phone to that Kurt."

 

They always call him _that_ Kurt, _that_ boy as if he’s still an unknown party to them; as if Blaine hasn’t tried to truly introduce him to them a hundred times.

 

“I can’t just quit any of that stuff,” Blaine finally says, after the sea of his mother’s words has just about drowned his brain. “You and Dad are always harping on me about quitting.”

 

“No, you can’t quit.” Mr. Anderson speaks his first and last words to Blaine for the night. “What you can do is do better. Do better.”

 

His father’s voice echoes in his head, _do better, do better,_ as he sits at his desk reworking his math test. He refuses to look back at the textbook for reference, telling himself he should’ve memorized the steps better the first time. After two hours, his desk is a slew of notebook paper with chicken scratch equations in red ink. His brain feels so exhausted from its running that all he wants to do is run straight to Kurt, then collapse.

 

Ever since Kurt’s been dorming, the feat of rendezvous has been more difficult. Right now, though, he doesn’t care. Blaine digs under his textbooks for his car keys and packs a slapdash sleepover duffel.

 

It’s nine o’clock, which means his parents have segued into the part of their routine when they watch Fox News in the living room. It’s at this time that Blaine can usually leave the house. They're so zoned in on whatever conservative program is on that the lie he usually gives to excuse himself works. If it doesn’t, he just slips out of his window. They haven’t seen the inside of his bedroom in the better part of four years.

 

“Mom, Dad?” He passes them on his way down the stairs and out the door. “I’m just going to Artie’s. He got an A on the exam, so he’ll help me.”

 

His father doesn’t speak. Neither of his parents’ eyes leave the screen.

 

“Artie,” his mother repeats. “Is he one of your friends from that Glee club?”

 

He knows that’s code for: _Is he gay like Kurt?_

 

“Yeah, Mom. He’s the one who’s dating Tina, Kurt’s best friend. You worked with Tina’s mom at Jones Lumber.”

 

“Oh, right.” This seems to appease her. “Back before midnight, please.”

 

By midnight, though, his parents are always sleep, like clockwork. They both leave for work too early in the mornings to ever see him off. Some nights, Blaine doesn’t come back. As long as he can stay out with Kurt, and imagine that it’s just two of them against the world, he stays.

 

 

 

 

 

But first, on his trip out to Kurt's school, he does actually stop at Artie’s place. Call it guilt that he told his parents he was going to be there. Call it that he and Artie, and he and Sam, are starting to become really good friends.

 

While Kurt was with him at McKinley, Blaine felt like his friendships with most of the guys in Glee were flimsy. Mike and Finn, who’d graduated, were the exceptions. The others? He felt like they liked Kurt more than they liked him, that guys like Puck, Artie, and Sam, just suspected he might hurt Kurt eventually. It was like the Glee guys were some kind of unofficial Kurt defense squad. Finn had actually mentioned it once: “He’s like, everybody’s spiritual little brother. You hurt him, you die.”

 

Blaine wondered, as he walked into his senior year alone, then, what the remaining guys might make of him as a solo act. As not “Kurt’s boyfriend,” but Blaine. Days in, to his relief, Sam and Artie accosted him. With friendship.

 

“You’re like that girl who disappears whenever she gets a boyfriend.” Artie said this to Blaine as he walked into the first meeting of Glee club, sitting in the row behind Sam and Artie’s wheelchair.

 

“Uh, what?” This was the first conversation Blaine was having with Artie since May prior.

 

“What we’re saying is,” Sam chimed in, and Blaine also hadn’t spoken much to Sam since school ended last year, “you transferred here for Kurt, it’s beautiful, you love him, but you kinda don’t have a life outside him.”

 

“It’s sad.”

 

Blaine raised his finger and opened his mouth to object, but thought about the fact that, over the summer, he’d made Kurt a very detailed, kitschy, couples’ scrapbook. So far eighty pages long, it included pictures of them, but mostly Kurt; all the notes they’d ever passed in classes; every movie ticket stub; a petal from every bouquet Kurt had given Blaine. It was going to be a surprise gift for Kurt’s going away to college, but by August, Blaine had decided to hang onto it, wanting it to be fuller.

 

He looked it almost every morning and night, stroking the pictures. They had a point. He closed his mouth.

 

“It’s all gravy,” Artie said, gesturing between himself Sam. “You can be friends with us, yo.”

 

“’From that day on,’” Sam said, “’we was always together. Jenny and me was like peas and carrots.’ Forrest Gump.”

 

“You smoke weed?” Artie said.

 

“Uh, no.”

 

“You down to watch Sam and I smoke weed after school today?”

 

“Uh, sure?”

 

Blaine was ninety percent sure he wouldn’t be smoking weed with them when he stepped into Artie’s master bedroom that afternoon. But as the three of them played Call of Duty Zombies for the next hour, Artie’s chair pulled up next to the cozy loveseat where Blaine and Sam sat, Sam and Artie kept reaching across Blaine’s face to pass the pipe. Each time, the smell of it intrigued him. They _were_ getting more and more goofy and infectious, the more they took. They acted comfortable with Blaine, like they had always known him, and that felt nice.

 

And Blaine had always wondered about weed. He was a big fan of booze, and maybe the sensations would be similar. He would never make a habit of it, god would his parents and Kurt disown him if he ever became a stoner, but maybe he could just _try it_ one time—

 

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll take, I’ll take _one_ hit. And then climb in through my window so my parents don’t smell it reeking off me.”

 

Another hour later, they were sprawled across the floor with Wayne’s World playing in the background on TV, three boxes of pizza devoured between them. Blaine was high as a kite. The world was all in brighter color, time had slowed miraculously; Sam’s impressions were the live giving, life changing force that energized him, and Artie’s original raps were prophetic genius. They sang a trio of [“Smoke Two Joints” by Sublime](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h0i62GnQoo0). For the first time since Kurt left, and for the first time with people who _weren’t_ Kurt in a long time, Blaine felt pure elation and bliss.

 

He also realized, and would later go on to be in denial about admitting: Sam Evans was kinda hot. He always had been, hadn’t he? That was why when Blaine got to McKinley, and Kurt pointed him out, “yeah _that’s_ the guy I used to have a crush on, embarrassing, right?” Blaine felt that needless stab of jealousy. Blaine didn’t look like him at all. No perfectly cut figure, no airy, light hair. No gorgeous lips. Objectively, Blaine could see why Kurt had liked him, was all. There was no doubt about the aspiring model’s interest in girls, though. Mercedes Jones especially.

 

Blaine only smoked weed with Sam and Artie that one time, but these days, without Kurt’s daily presence, Blaine has to admit that the prospect of smoking with them again has gotten tempting. Tonight, on his way to visit Kurt, he walks into Artie’s bedroom to the two of them lounging before the Xbox, as usual, the heady smell thick throughout the room, tickling his nostrils. It doesn’t bother Blaine, the smell. He’s actually started to like it.

 

“Blaine!” Sam cheers when he enters, his glassy eyes still fixed on the screen.

 

“B-deezy!” Artie doesn’t look up or stop his button-smashing either. “Come get up on this game.”

 

“Can’t,” Blaine says, “I’m on my way to visit Kurt. Are you guys playing Rollercoaster Tycoon?”

 

“What’s Kurt up to these days?” Sam scoots over, all instinct, when Blaine moves to sit on his usual side on the couch.

 

“Uh, mostly just school, I think.”

 

“That evil bitch Sebastian still his roommate?” Artie says.

 

“Yep.”

 

Blaine doesn’t like to talk about the whole “my boyfriend lives with the guy I almost lost my boyfriend over” thing. He likes even less to talk about the fact that he ever took Sebastian Smythe up on “friendship” in the first place. But Blaine had been well aware of his status of “that girl who disappears” long before Artie and Sam announced to him. Kurt had a close-knit group of friends from Glee, but by the end of he and Kurt’s first summer together, Blaine on the other hand had lost touch with most of his friends in the Warblers. He had always been kind of shy anyway, so when he kept declining their invitations to hang out with Kurt instead, they stopped inviting him, and he felt too embarrassed to ask.

 

So when someone like Sebastian was persistent, Blaine was glad the opportunity to make a new friend fell into his lap. A year later, though, in retrospect? Especially after all the things he’s said about Kurt, and [the entire sketchy roofie fiasco](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11162142/chapters/25349799)? Blaine hates the small part of him that still wants to be nice to this guy. He hates it even moreso now that Kurt somehow _lives with him._

 

The worst part of Sebastian’s presence in his life is that the older boy doesn’t seem to realize how much his teasing can really mess with Blaine’s head. He probably thinks they are actually friends, that his jokes get only _mildly_ out of hand. The part of Blaine that wants everyone to like him tells him that he’s just being too sensitive. Maybe Sebastian isn’t all that manipulative, it says, and rather, the problem is Blaine’s own suggestibility.

 

It is hard for him to let go of things, though, things like Sebastian being genuinely amicable one day, charming, checking up on him, giving him funny advice, and then the next day, shooting Blaine an unwarranted rant about Kurt, bragging about his latest hookups, TMI, or just generally responding to Blaine’s olives branches with crossness and impatience.

 

It’s just not Sebastian’s _fault,_ though, really, that Blaine chooses to put up with both sides of the coin. It’s not like Blaine has ever had the balls to give Sebastian a solid “no” at any stage of their frenemy-ship. Blaine has a hard time saying “no” to pretty much everything, especially guys.

 

Especially Kurt.

 

That’s why when Kurt insists the roommate arrangement is going to be fine, that he and Sebastian “aren’t actually going to kill each other worse,” as he’d joked, Blaine _trie_ _s_ to play along. But really? He gets this gut feeling, this dread, when he remembers they’re alone together.

 

“I know it’s, like, different when you’re gay,” Sam says to Blaine, “but I would _so_ not be cool with my girlfriend or Mercedes shacking up with a dude like that.”

 

“Well, it’s not so different,” Blaine says.

 

“Are gay dudes any more respectful than straight dudes? ‘Cause I have a hard time imagining ninety percent of the guys I’ve ever met just _letting_ a hot girl change in front of ‘m every day. Even the real kind ones would perv on the low.”

 

“Hold up,” Artie says. “Is he making moves on Kurt?”

 

“No. God, no.” Again, Blaine gets that gut feeling. “Even though Sebastian is _Sebastian,_ he thinks Kurt is, like, the ugliest person on the planet. I’ve heard all about it.” He grumbles, then: “Fucker must be going blind.”

 

Sam laughs loudly at Blaine’s side. He has the kind of laugh that makes Blaine laugh every time he hears it. The blonde sways his legs, knocking a knee into Blaine’s. “I love hearing you say ‘fuck.’”

 

“What?” Blaine knees him back. “Why?”

 

“But seriously,” Sam says, “fuck that guy. Go over there right now and show that class-A a-hole who Kurt’s boyfriend is. Why’d you even stop here anyhow?”

 

“I don’t know. I just wanted to say hi.”

 

 

  

 

 

 

[Seeing Kurt after weeks of absence ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11162142/chapters/25748289.)is a breath of fresh air, weight being lifted off his shoulders. Kurt invites him in and Blaine has been here many times already, but still, he can’t get over how elegantly and personally Kurt has decorated his half; the bedding is maroon and black lace trimmed satin, the walls draped with color coordinated mood boards, pendants, sparkling lights, collages. He has definitely put Sebastian’s half of the room, plain and unadorned navy blue, to shame.

 

They catch up briefly; Kurt’s skin is all aflush as they talk, and Blaine just wants to kiss every inch of it. But he waits for Kurt to ask, or better yet, command. Kurt gets rid of Sebastian soon enough, and then their celebratory reunion lovemaking begins. Blaine’s worries are gone, replaced by cloud nine. Kurt’s soft voice in his ear, telling him how good he’s taking it, telling him that he’s perfect, is making him more emotional than usual tonight. Even though this senior year, when he’s alone, he always feels behind, like he won’t ever be good enough, when he’s like this, Kurt is so content with him; seeing that he can affect someone this deeply always stirs something in him that he never wants to end.

 

Blaine comes down from his orgasm slow; Kurt is practically already asleep beside him, breathing soft. Blaine usually knocks out not long afterwards too, and sometimes enjoys that part more than the actual sex. That’s because Blaine’s active imagination carries with it a sometimes damning, sometimes heavenly side effect: hyper realistic dreams about sex.

 

When Blaine was young, he often felt it a curse. It was how he knew he was gay, but also served to make his middle and early high school years kind of a nightmare. Before Kurt, he never had a boyfriend, and besides the guy he asked to Sadie Hawkins at his first school, Ada High, not even a requited gay crush. Those dreams he had about boys who would never deign to touch him meant private pleasure at the expense of feeling completely humiliated when facing his platonic buddies the next day.

 

But then, Blaine started dating Kurt, and suddenly his mind’s want to wax smutmantic was extremely advantageous. They would part from each other nights, and though of course Blaine always preferred the real thing, getting to have Kurt a second time in his asleep surreal world, all to himself, was unparalleled in and of itself. Blaine’s first dream about Kurt occurred before the two of them were together, before Blackbird, before Blaine could work up the courage to ask Kurt out, but already felt the love creeping in on him slow. In this scenario, the great Dalton common room had emptied out, and Kurt was waiting for him, undoing his tight blue and red striped tie, popping open his shirt and raking his hands down his naked chest. Taking himself out of his pants, teasing. Making Blaine chase him all around the room, not letting him have it. “Come get me. Come on.” He’d woken up half rutting himself against the rough, wet fabric of his sheets.

 

But he can’t dream of things like right now; the unfortunate fact that Sebastian is still somewhere outside the room, most likely waiting by the door as usual, is making his stomach turn. _God,_ he hopes silently, _only one more year of him._ He gets up, begrudgingly, and clicks open the door.

 

Sebastian’s long legs are a tangle as he sits propped up against the wall in the hallway. When he unfurls, standing tall, Blaine realizes he forgot, how menacing the foot Sebastian has on him can be sometimes. Even in the dark, he can see Sebastian’s cocksure and sexy smile spreading.

 

“Hi, Blaine. Cute pajamas.”

 

Sebastian passes by him. Blaine shuts the door and climbs back into Kurt’s bed, watching Sebastian move. It’s surreal during moments like this, that _he_ is _here_ _,_ in Kurt’s bedroom, all the time now. Blaine couldn’t have ever imagined this the first time they met; that Sebastian Smythe would become so intricately entwined in both of their lives.

 

 _If only I hadn’t made myself seem available. That day we had coffee. I was being too nice._ If there was one thing he could change about his relationship with Kurt, it would be that day; if he could re-do it, cancel on Sebastian, and never have the two of them meet in the first place. That way, when this day came and they were roommates, it would only be a slight, pretty much nonexistent coincidence. Blaine would’ve walked on the first day of Kurt’s residency thinking, “oh, he went to Dalton. I talked with him once. I forget his name.” And maybe that coud've been that.

 

Sebastian stops whatever it is he’s doing over there in the dark, and Blaine realizes he’s been staring. Maintaining eye contact, Sebastian slips off his shirt. “I don’t think he would approve of you watching me do this.” The sound of him unzipping his pants is unnerving. “Don’t you think?”

 

Blaine feels his face flash hot. “Whatever, Sebastian. Goodnight.”

 

All night, then, it consumes him: his guilt about the two of them ever having bad blood because of him. Insomnia pushes him to imagine things he knows he aren’t happening. Imagines Kurt and Sebastian realizing that he’s their common enemy; only acting things out at this point, playing up their hatred to fool Blaine into thinking that nothing’s happening. Kurt would never, Blaine knows that, but then, he has thought he has known a lot of things, and been wrong. What if one day, Kurt falls out of love with him? Will Blaine even know the day has come? His worst fear is having the rug pulled out from under him suddenly, especially when he should’ve always known that it was coming.

 

Right now, there are no signs that that is coming. Only these nightmare scenarios he invents, out of his mind. He spends the next morning hating himself for thinking them, washing away that hateful doubt of Kurt.

 

While Kurt is in class, Blaine finds himself “adopted” by Kurt’s new on campus friend, Rachel Berry. She’s wonderful; they immediately have a long conversation about music, and they even sing a little bit. But soon, the longer he talks to her, the afternoon hours hurrying along as Blaine waits for Kurt to finishes classes, that he realizes with a tight twist to his guts that skipping school was a fucking stupid idea today. He really shouldn’t be doing this; by now, it’s three o’clock, and he’s officially just missed _eight hours of work_. There were no quizzes or exams today, but his parents _just warned him_ about being lazy, about quitting.

 

Just when he starts to think he’s made the wrong decision, Kurt appears at the table before he and Rachel. Blaine is immediately flustered by images he’s held onto of the sex they had this morning in the shower; of the things Kurt whispered in his ear, “fuck, you’re so beautiful, Blaine, you’re mine.” It’s always so jarring, in a good way, seeing Kurt looking so pretty and composed when they’re in public afterwards. Ever since Kurt has lived on a college campus especially, he’s looked so self-assured, independent, and serene.

 

Blaine is so proud of him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the day Kurt wandered into Dalton, how much he’s changed since then. No, this wasn’t a mistake; seeing Kurt’s growth in person is never a mistake. He’ll make up for this tomorrow.

 

[But the party that they get invited to later that night ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11162142/chapters/25748289)sets Blaine on edge again. By the time they finally get there, it’s late. Trying to do his homework just before, knowing that he was behind, had made him sort of irritable. Not a party mood. He really should be home, but he misses just hanging out with Kurt. As well, he longs to see for himself what really goes down at these state school colleges parties. Are they really so sleazy that someone like Kurt, who doesn’t even drink, can get roofied?

 

As he walks into the crowded apartment, he quickly notes that he's a head shorter than most of the guys in the room. Blaine knows it’s foolish to think that he is the image of that big, strapping boyfriend no one wants to fuck with. Kurt’s probably stronger than he is, with the way he can twist around a scaffolding with just his legs, the ungodly things he can do with swords. Kurt can more than defend himself.

 

Still, after the roofie incident, Blaine worries. A part of him, too large of a part, hopes he’ll see this guy Chandler tonight. Fight him IRL. He doesn’t fight, unless it’s the punching bag. But that guy? If only Kurt weren’t such a pacifist, would tell him what he looks like.

 

The mild anxiety that any one of the guys in the apartment could be him, plus Blaine’s increasingly cycling worries that his parents might know he’s gone, causes him to wish to take a jello shot the second he sees the tray floating right past he and Tina. Gratefully, Tina’s down immediately. Blaine’s reflexive urge to drink is long practiced because he’s been drinking ever since he was twelve. Cooper used to sneak him vodka to sip from his Coke at dinner; their board game nights and duet concerts were amplified by Captain Morgan.

 

Blaine still romanticizes the beginning, when being drunk was a new high; he would sit in bed afterwards, giddy, red-faced, and hot, feeling excitable and dizzy knowing his parents didn’t know. Feeling that he and Cooper had this big secret, that _he_ had found the secret to happiness in a bottle.

 

And _s_ _leeping_ fucking soundly afterwards; Blaine still can’t sleep as well as he does if he has a few shots in him. The hangovers have always been a wreck, but he’s always found them worth it just to chase after that first time.

 

Just to feel that moment at the top of the roller coaster hill.

 

After the Sadie Hawkins incident, Cooper’s misguided get-well gift to Blaine was his very first flask. Presented when the brothers had a moment alone in the hospital, it was beautiful, leather bound, lightweight, engraved with his initials, and just the right size to stow in a coat. Blaine considered it a right of passage, especially combined with the motivational speech his brother gave him.

 

“You deserve it, little brother,” Cooper said, tearful. “Those guys can’t touch you anymore. Enjoy yourself, live the rest of your life in their faces. Success is the best form of revenge.”

 

When he met Kurt, and they started going to Dalton parties together, Kurt told him that he’d never had a drink, never wanted to. Blaine had for the first time felt embarrassed about his habit.

 

“Why,” Kurt had said to him one night, looking absolutely fine in a red scarf and tight jeans. “Do _you_ drink?”

 

“Yeah, you know. Sometimes.”

 

It silences everything; tonight, the fact that Blaine is going back home and Sebastian could very well be eye-fucking Kurt? Who cares? When he and Tina really start drinking—she can hold her own, and she’s made a great drinking partner when the three of them have gone out before—he gets lost in the feeling of not caring. Kurt says it’s fine that goes and has fun anyway. He wants to stave off tomorrow, and the reality of his life, as long as possible right now.

 

He drinks too much, too fast; only vaguely remembers Kurt holding him on the couch at some point, his body warm, his voice supple. Blacking out, then suddenly standing across the room, seeing Sebastian. Seeing Kurt _on the couch_ with Sebastian, Sebastian staring at Kurt when he thought Kurt wasn’t looking, sizing up Kurt’s thighs. Smiling that stupid _fucking_ sexy smile like he knows some kind of secret to life that no one else knows. The two of them staring at each other a moment, Kurt getting that look of fire in his eyes, when something excites him. Blaine remembers feeling panic. Blacking out again, Kurt holding him on the couch, his body warm—wait, in what order had that happened again?

 

The next time he has a moment of lucidity, he and Kurt are outside the apartment. The cold night air practically stings his body, and Kurt has him propped up under his shoulder, guiding them.

 

Blaine remembers what he saw. Kurt and Sebastian on that couch. But he’s too drunk for panic now. Instead, he’s liquid courageous enough to just come out with it.

 

“Why’s Sebastian so mean to you?”

 

“He’s mean to everyone,” Kurt says. “I don’t think Sebastian Smythe has one nice bone in his entire plastic body.”

 

“I don’t—” Blaine hiccups, grips onto Kurt’s hard body tighter. “I don’t want you with him, living with him, anymore.”

 

“Well, unfortunately I have to for now, Blaine. Trust me, I tried to get out of it, but any attempt at proving he’s a danger to me is going to fail unless he actually does something threatening, which at this point I don’t even think is going to happen—”

 

“Is something going on? With you and him?”

 

Kurt stops in his tracks, pulls Blaine out in front of him, and holds him vice-grip-tight by the forearms.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re serious?”

 

Kurt sounds angry at him. “I don’t know.”

 

“Have you completely missed the fact that I have _hated_ Sebastian ever since I first met him? Because of you? There will never be anything going on between he and I, ever.”

 

“Okay, I’m—I’m sorry.”

 

Blaine’s consciousness is splotchy as he rides in Kurt’s passenger seat, loses entirely the moment they get back to campus. At one point, he finds himself puking into Kurt’s trashcan. Then promptly, to his knowledge, he passes out for the night.

 

Wakes up to the alarm he set himself for five a.m. Feels the spins, knows he has to drive home in spite of this. He’ll get home by six, shower this off, go to school. His hair is wet, though, and he smells like Kurt’s soap _._

 

 _Kurt actually bathed him._ Kurt isn’t exactly awake but he does stir, and hum, at the noise Blaine’s cellphone makes. Blaine doesn’t want to disturb him further, but at the same time, he wants so badly to wake Kurt and hug him. Apologize profusely. Promise that it won’t happen again.

 

“Leaving?” Kurt’s hands fumble for some sort of contact, so Blaine offers up his hands; Kurt’s needy little grasps make his heart hurt, stun him into silence. God, Kurt isn’t even mad at him, is he?

 

“Love you,” Kurt mumbles, eyes shut. “Don’t let the dream bugs...I mean, the bed bugs...”

 

He feels so unworthy, sometimes, of being this unendingly kind soul’s boyfriend.

 

“Good morning, silly. I don’t know how you put up with me. I’m sorry. Love you too.”

 

 

 

 

  

Sectionals is a few weeks away, and that morning as they walk through the crowded halls together, Sam is filled to the brim with brainstorms. He talks Blaine’s ear off, and Blaine wishes he could genuinely be into it.

 

“I was thinking, like, we could all wear those ironic tuxedo t-shirts and trilbys, and Artie could _literally_ be dressed like the sun, and I could walk out playing the banjo on stage, okay maybe not the banjo, I’ll just stick with the acoustic, but I wish Mercedes was here, she would totally blow this song away as a duet. But you’re just as good as she is. Not really. Anyway, dude, this is like, fucking _championship_ material, I’m telling you.”

 

When they get into the choir room, Blaine finds the empty room (not even the band is there, and they’re _always_ there) set up with just one of the red plastic chairs in the center. Sam’s also already set up his favorite guitar, fitted with the strap that looks fifteen years old, all battered with love. Blaine realizes, then: the chair is for him.

 

Blaine sits in it, watching as Sam throws his backpack to the floor and slings his guitar over his shoulder, a pick in his mouth. Blaine doesn’t want to tell his friend that he kind of feels like making himself puke again, because Sam’s clearly put a lot of thought into this.

 

“Okay,” Sam says, words garbled around the pick, “you definitely don’t look like I’m about to play you the happiest song we’ve ever heard.”

 

“Sorry. I’ve just been out of it all day. Headache.”

 

Sam smirks at him, tossing the pick up and down in his spare hand. “Did you crash a college party last night? Thought I saw you in Tina’s Snapchat.”

 

“Yeah, and I totally regret it. Tina Cohen-Chang can outdrink me, I don’t know why I try to keep up. Sebastian was there, too, and—I blacked out, because I hadn’t eaten anything, and forgot I hadn’t eaten anything—“

 

“Dude, you gotta stop doing that.”

 

Sam punctuates this by throwing the pick in Blaine’s face. Blaine laughs. “Hey, not cool, man. Don’t start a war.”

 

“Any word on whether that Sebastian kid’s scheming on Kurt?”

 

At this, Blaine sobers.

 

“No. No _words,_ but I thought I saw—nevermind.”

 

He just feels ridiculous, because two days ago he’d been borderline bragging to his friends that Sebastian found Kurt ugly. Making it seem impossible that “Klaine,” as Glee club had dubbed them, could ever be torn apart by some floozy. But Blaine knows that look Sebastian had; he’d bet money on that look; it was the same one he’d gotten when they first met.

 

“Kurt just feels so far away,” Blaine says. "That's all. I know he doesn’t do it on purpose, I know he’s busy, and I’m glad that he’s making new friends. But I wonder if, like,  _Sebastian_ knows more about my own boyfriend than I do right now. Because they talk. A lot. Mostly it’s just arguing. But still.”

 

Sam is messing with the low E string of his guitar, intently listening. Sam makes it sound like a joke when he says he has a steel trap, but he actually does remember pretty much everything Blaine has ever told him. Things that _Blaine_ forgets he’s told him.

 

“You know how girls talk about that women’s intuition thing?" Sam says. "Guys have that too. How’d you think I knew Quinn was screwing around on me with Finn? Kurt’s a good guy, I’m not saying he’s cheating. I’m just saying, this wouldn’t be messing with you and you wouldn’t be feeling like this if there wasn’t at least _some_ truth to it.”

 

That does make Blaine feel s _omewhat_ validated, but... “Kurt acted like it was the most impossible thing I’d ever suggested when I brought it up. So now, I don’t wanna keep bugging him. I already only see him, like, once every two weeks. But I don’t know what to do about it otherwise.”

 

“Go to the source.” Sam plays a G chord, grinning. “But not now.”

 

“[Well, sometimes the sun shines on](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FU1H091u7zM)  
“Other people’s houses and not mine.  
“Some days the clouds paint the sky all gray  
“And it takes away my summertime.  
“Somehow the sun keeps shining upon you  
“While I struggle to get mine.  
“If there’s a light in everybody,  
“Send out your ray of sunshine.”

 

As Sam continues on with the verses, Blaine tries out some harmonies, starting to plan how every voice in the New Directions will compliment. Sam’s in love with the song, clearly, and Blaine realizes this is totally supposed to be like all those times couples dedicate songs to each other. Sam is ironically playing it up, spinning in circles around Blaine as he plays, making faux lovey-dovey eyes at him. Blaine appreciates the corniness.

 

“Oh, if this little of mine  
“Combined with yours today,  
“How many watts could we luminate?  
“How many villages could we save?  
“My umbrella’s tired of the weather  
“Wearing me down,  
“Well, look at me now.”

 

Blaine doesn’t feel the physical clouds of his hangover clear, but on the inside, he does feel better. At least, for a little while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

That night, though, he’s lonely. Missing Kurt and horny. So, he watches porn. Ordinarily, he tries not to, but after ruining Kurt’s night last night, he really doesn’t want to call tonight asking, “Help me jerk off?”

 

He accidentally discovered his interest in the only kind of porn he watches now, BDSM, when he was thirteen. One video on his cellphone led to another and all of a sudden, he was watching two men clad in leather in a dungeon. He has been compelled by it ever since. Not once before Kurt did it ever slip outside his psyche and into the schoolboy fumblings of his first encounters. However, not long after he and Kurt started having sex, Kurt caught him watching it. Sort of.

 

“I’m sorry.” Kurt had just taken a seat on Blaine’s bed, flipping open the laptop to check on movie times. “I promise I wasn’t snooping, I just opened it, and this—oh, my. Is that a dog collar? A-and a muzzle?”

 

Blaine was mortified, but Kurt had pretty much taken the whole thing in stride. His face was very, very red, but he spoke calmly, asking Blaine genuine questions about his interest in it.

 

“I mean—there are rules, right? It’s not just like, beating each other senseless for the hell of it. I may be, y’know, _me_ and everything _,_ but I do know a little about how it works. O-only because Tina has given me _way_ too much detail about she and my brother’s forays over the years. Do you—is this something you’ve always been into? Tell me, I—I want to understand.”

 

An hour later, he and Kurt were making out, frotting, all foreplay, and Kurt had _definitely_ taken what Blaine had said and carefully used it. He gripped Blaine’s neck tighter than usual; squeezed his wrists harder than usual; sort of had this little vindictive smile on his face as he _told_ Blaine what he wanted, instead of letting him guess. Blaine couldn’t believe that Kurt _wanted_ to. Two hours later, they were tentatively discussing acting out a scene together. “I won’t watch the porn,” Kurt said. “But I’ll read. Maybe _Fifty Shades of Grey_ or something.”

 

At first, when Blaine was young, it was worrying to him; that seeing the subs get slapped in the face, lips cut and bursting with blood, would turn him on almost instantly. But upon further introspection, late into his teens and now, as a new adult, he knows it isn’t because he wants to see someone else get hurt. It’s because he wants these things to happen to _him._

 

He understands: there can be something deeply cathartic about being pain for some people. It’s why he boxes; feeling his fists ache and well up, the dry skin of his knuckles breaking open and bleeding, makes him feel flooded with adrenaline. The whole body exhaustion lets him know that he's done work. He thinks he can handle it during sex. He can so handle it.

 

Maybe it’ll stop him from watching the videos. Kurt would never watch things like this, so Blaine does feel guilt, seeing other men naked who aren’t Kurt. But if he brings it into he and Kurt’s life? Maybe fantasy and reality will merge. Maybe the distance he’s been feeling slowly growing in between them will vanish, like a doubt.

 

 

 

 

 

He redeems himself, booze-wise, [the next time he and Kurt go out, to the Halloween party](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11162142/chapters/25822092). Having one mixed drink and one beer, compared to his usual six or seven shots, means he’s totally coherent. And Kurt looks _fucking good;_ Blaine has one of those moments where can’t believe he’s dating someone who looks like him _._  Can't believe he gets to try the sub thing tonight with a goddamn supermodel. He has fun tonight overall, spends an equal amount time with his boyfriend and with Tina and Artie, too, and best yet, he doesn’t see Sebastian’s face once. He’s just starting to feel like it’s a perfect night when he and Kurt get separated.

 

And then, gunshots. People scattering, screaming; Blaine’s immediate focus is helping Artie wheel out. Once they’re out on the street, Blaine looks for Kurt to no avail— _no, no, it can’t be him, he can’t be dead—_

 

Still within view of the frat house, Blaine and Artie roll up alongside Tina and Rachel on the road. Blaine tries to keep his reaction within, hiding it from them, but he starts to feel the panic physically—his throat closing up, his heart racing, sweating, calling Kurt for no reason, because he knows Kurt left his phone at the dorm—

 

“Where’s Kurt?” Tina finally says to Blaine.

 

“He’s coming,” Blaine says, though he doesn’t believe it. “He’ll be here.”

 

And then, Kurt is. He comes out of the house with a glazed over look in his eyes. But he’s safe.

 

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Blaine embraces him, and Kurt holds on loosely, doesn’t say anything. Blaine feels wet spots on his own arms, looks down. “Kurt, you're bleeding.”

 

After Kurt is treated by an EMT, Blaine sits next to him on the curb. Kurt is huddled beneath a shock blanket.

 

“Blaine?” Kurt finally speaks. “I don’t know if I wanna, you know. Try anything tonight.”

 

“Of course.” Blaine takes one of Kurt’s hands in his, squeezing. “Of course, babe, we should just get some rest tonight. Whatever you want.”

 

But he’s so worried, as Kurt sits and processes, that something about this shooting has triggered him. He knows that something’s wrong whenever he gets like this. Eyes clouded, staring off into space; borderline irritable; sad; so soft spoken he can hardly be heard. He really doesn’t want to leave Kurt alone with Sebastian tonight.

 

Luckily, Kurt wants to go home with him.

 

As Kurt sleeps in Blaine's bed that night, he doesn’t want Blaine to hold him. Blaine tries not to take it personally. All he wants is to curl up along Kurt’s back, feel his warmth. All he wants is for things to feel like they did at the start: when _desperation_ pushed one of them or the other to drive over in the middle of the night, every night, slip through a window and fuck in the dark, holding onto each other for dear life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Blaine is starving today.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11162142/chapters/25928916) This is not the head space or the stomach space that he should be in, starting a conversation like this with Sebastian.

 

The after school exhaustion threatens to make him feel like unpackaging half of the contents of his parents’ fridge and inhaling when he walks in the door, but he clings on to the sense of feeling like he’s accomplishing something, pushing himself to his limits. _I’m so on top of things today, I got my make-up work done between classes, went to chem and math tutoring instead of lunch,_ _turned in all my_ _extra credit for the week, and booked the senior trip to the space museum for astronomy club._

 

He doesn’t buckle, lying on his bed with his phone. Here it is, the long puzzle of a conversation he has had with Sebastian Smythe ever since they met. He decides to add to it:

 

 **Blaine:** I know it’s weird that I’m asking this, but do you and Kurt change in front of each other?

 

He remembers Kurt telling him they didn’t a month ago, but doesn’t want to ask Kurt now if that fact has changed. When after a few minutes, he sees no three dots that would signify Sebastian is replying, he decides he doesn’t want to come off like he’s trying too hard, so he adds,

 

 **Blaine:** Just wondering.

 

Sebastian answers swiftly, then.

 

 **Sebastian:** I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.

 **Sebastian:** Not yet, anyway.

 

Blaine’s irritation jump starts. Sebastian has this way of completely obfuscating whether or not he’s joking. Now that Blaine knows which half he’s dealing with today, Mr. Hyde, he decides not to be so formal. Keeps in mind the advice that Sam gave him: go to the source.

 

 **Blaine:** What the hell does that mean?

 **Sebastian:** Relax, sweetheart. Your wimpy lover keeps his fabulous, glittery clothes on. Like all the time.

 **Blaine:** I don’t understand why you’re still so mean to him. If you guys are going to last an entire year, you should be trying to make things easier on each other, not harder.

 **Sebastian:** You sound like a marriage counselor.

 **Blaine:** I’m just tired of you giving him crap because of me.

 **Sebastian:** Believe it or not, not everything that happens is because of you, Blaine.

 

Blaine feels hurt by this. He now regrets ever telling Sebastian that he once struggled with paranoia. _Struggles._ Another symptom of his active imagination, it only got worse after Sadie Hawkins at Ada.That was three years ago now, but sometimes he remembers that it’s very much the root of where his problems with himself lie. It’s the source.

 

Because he’d ignored his instinct, then. _Those guys are following us._ _Do they even go to our school?_ _Are they looking at Tyler? Something doesn’t feel right about this. I just know. I think that we should go._ If only he’d listened. Maybe Tyler wouldn’t have had his life put at risk.

 

 **Blaine:** I know it isn’t. You don’t have to talk to me like that, you know.

 **Sebastian:** Okay, so why ask me if Kurt changes in front of me. Are you really that insecure about your juvenile relationship or do you just have a threesome idea involving us you never told me about?

 

Blaine really thinks about his answer. Really wants to finally tell Sebastian what he thinks about him. _You’re a coward. You’re nice one minute and mean the next because it means you get to hang onto_ _the_ _control. You jump down other people’s throats about thing_ _s_ _because it distracts from the fact that you can’t be honest with yourself. I think you actually want a boyfriend._ _But you_ _can’t stop attacking people long enough for anyone to like you._

 

But he knows just he’s thinking that because he’s hurt; because he _is_ insecure about Kurt loving someone else.

 

 **Blaine:** I just want you not to hurt him. He’s everything to me. You hurt him? You’re nothing to me.

 

 

 

 

 

For the rest of the day, the memory of Sadie Hawkins replays. Sometimes, it's triggered by not very much at all.

 

He and Tyler leaving the auditorium, hands not held, Blaine thinking, _M_ _aybe it’s okay_ _that I asked him_ _._ _M_ _aybe the world has moved on_. Then realizing: its quiet. The rollercoaster park has long been closed. Then, hearing running footsteps. A blow to the back of his head, his body scraping against concrete. Four guys suddenly wailing on him, and Tyler screaming. “Stop, please!” “Shut the fuck up!” And then, it’s worse for Tyler, much worse; two of the attackers remain with Blaine, one sitting on top of him and pinning his arms, the other pressing his shoe into the side of Blaine’s face, and the rest of them, all six, beating the shit out of Tyler. Blaine can see it as he’s pinned to the ground; they’re pummeling his face, blood pooling and splashing, his nose busted, his face becoming unrecognizable. Blaine stifles his sobs.

 

“You crying, too?” The guy standing above him kicks him in the face; his lip splits. “Cry louder. You’ll end up like your faggot boyfriend over there.”

 

And then, the after: Tyler’s face purple and swollen, his unconscious body limp in the hospital bed.

 

“I’m so sorry. You’ll never have to see me again. I’m so sorry.”

 

Ever since, he's felt like misfortune is flirting with his memory of that night, threatening a repeat at any time. That if people get too close, he is propensity to be in danger will just take them down spinning right with him. Kurt has always been so, very close; right on Blaine's edge, teetering over it. Always talking about taking his hand, running and jumping.

 

Kurt doesn’t even know about Tyler, really. He knows what happened. Not his name. Blaine can’t relive it all again, so finally, considering the day a bust, he sneaks into the bar while his parents are watching Fox News, fills his flask up with gin, vodka...

 

 

 

 

 

 

At Sectionals, much to Sam’s chagrin, The New Directions don’t sing “Sunshine Song.” Mr. Schue says Sam and Blaine’s plan for the song is too unrehearsed, but that they can try it for Regionals.

 

“At least he even gave your song the time of day,” Artie says to Sam and Blaine as the choir progresses down the hall from their green room to backstage. “He’s not gonna let us touch ‘Smoke Two Joints’ with a twelve foot pole.”

 

“You really didn’t see that coming?” Blaine says.

 

Two minutes before the curtain rises, as they’re stretching, Sam pokes Blaine in the ribs with a granola bar from his pocket.

 

“I promise, I ate breakfast,” Blaine says, and he did. A half a bowl of cereal.

 

“Captain Crunch with almond milk that you probably dumped half of down the sink because it got too soggy for you? That’s not a square meal.”

 

“Neither is this granola bar.”

 

“But it’s shaped like a square.”

 

“That’s a rectangle.”

 

One minute before the curtain rises, the granola bar adequately refused, Sam tries again.

 

“Is it because you think you’re fat?”

 

“What?”

 

“You should talk to Quinn and Mercedes, they’ve both been there and gotten through it. Even me sometimes, I look in the mirror and go ‘I’m gonna die alone, I’m big as a house, I hate myself, blah blah.’ But you’re like, tiny, dude. Totally fine. You gotta eat something. Do it for me.”

 

Blaine laughs. “I’m not hungry, really. And it’s not that I think I’m fat.”

 

“What is it, then?”

 

The lights above them start to blink. Thirty seconds.

 

“We’re not done with this conversation,” Sam says.

 

“Uh huh.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ever since the text conversation with Sebastian, he’s been re-reading it over and over. _I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure. Not yet, anyway._ He can’t get it out of his head, can’t stop feeling regret about ever forcing Kurt to try and trust Sebastian.

 

That night, at Scandals, Kurt had said it first: “I really don’t like this guy.” Now, Blaine shares the sentiment. Why couldn’t he have listened back then? Why hadn’t he seen it?

 

[He’s just about ready to tell Kurt that he agrees](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11162142/chapters/26097363) with all his former pleas to see the Sebastian-tinted light. Ready to say that he’s really going to stop trying, because there’s no excuse for the way he’s treated Kurt, or both of them for that matter. But then, he doesn’t want to bring it up; he’s so content listening to Kurt talk about how happy he is, about the new clothes he’s going to be wearing in the winter, about Tina and Rachel and Sebastian—

 

Wait, Sebastian?

 

“ _I don’t know, we’re—_ _trying this friend thing_ _now_ _.”_

 

“’Trying this friend thing now’?”

 

“ _Something like that, sure.”_

 

Jealousy. Ugly, ugly jealousy rearing its head in him. He hates it. There’s nothing to even suspect. _Except that Sebastian said ‘not yet’ when I asked if he’s seen Kurt naked._

 

He tries to keep his voice level, his mood calm. _Kurt_ hasn’t done anything wrong. “But you hate the way he treats you.” He tries to say what he’d initially called to say. “Heck, Kurt, _I_ hate it—”

 

“ _You’ve been friends with him this entire time, Blaine. You were even at the worst of him treating me like garbage.”_

 

“I know.” _I know, but I’m trying to change that. Please, let me say sorry._ “But—“

 

“ _And it’s not like we’re_ actually _friends, I don’t forsee us staying up braiding each other’s armpit hair and getting mani-pedi’s. We’re just peacefully coexisting. Trying not to hate each other anymore, because it gets so, so tiring. Finally Sebastian is tired of it too. And he is trying. Doing something I thought I’d never hear him do. Apologizing. At first it was for—hurting me. And then it started happening for little things, like, telling me my hair looks weird and puffy, or cutting me off in line to get coffee in the mornings...”_

 

Kurt suddenly has a lot of things to say about Sebastian; this is the most and the fastest he’s talked about anything in two weeks. As he does, Blaine thinks about the early mornings he and Kurt used to spend before high school; stopping at the Lima Bean for coffee, Kurt looking all cozy and sleepy in whatever scarf he'd chosen that day, the way that his face would light up and he’d hum damn near erotically, it was _funny_ , at his first sip of coffee of the day.

 

Now Sebastian is the one getting to see that look every morning. Surely, he’s noticed it by now. Even if it’s just as friends, the fact that Sebastian’s spending hours and hours with the one person Blaine most wants to be with. Even if it’s just as friends—but how can it be? How can any sane gay man with a pulse look at Kurt and not at least be attracted to him a little bit? Those legs? Those eyes?

 

He has Kurt on speaker as he stands outside in front of McKinley. In some ways, the way this place is built reminds him of Ada High. He really wants to go home.

 

“ _Earth to boyfriend.”_

 

Does Kurt know Sebastian’s true intentions? He pulls up Sebastian’s conversation on his phone as he walks to his car.

 

“I’m here. Just listening.” Blaine’s heart is beating fast. He can’t stop it, the ugly feeling speaking out for him. “You have a lot to say about him suddenly. Maybe Sebastian does have a conscience, and a soul, then. Even if the last text he sent me, and I quote, was, ‘Are you really that insecure about your juvenile relationship, or do you just have a threesome idea involving us you never told me about?”

 

At Kurt’s silence, Blaine curses himself. _Fuck, I’m doing it again. I’m making_ _this all up_ _. Aren’t I?_

 

“...Kurt?”

 

“ _When did he say this?”_

 

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know, a couple weeks ago?”

 

“ _How many exactly?”_

 

“Three, and a half, give or take.”

 

“ _And why didn’t I hear about it?”_

 

“Well, I didn’t—think you’d wanna hear it, baby.”

 

“ _How graphic was he?”_

 

“Not at all, Kurt, I swear. It was literally just a sentence.”

 

“Did _you have ideas, about us being with him?”_

 

“No, Kurt, god.” This was going downhill fast. “I would never, in a million years want to share you with him. That kind of thing is special, for some of us.”

 

At Kurt’s silence, again, Blaine tries to backtrack.

 

“Oh, Kurt, I shouldn’t’ve even looked through my phone, to read this crap to you. I’m sorry, it was really immature of me, and I probably should’ve just deleted them after I got them, but you know how I keep all my messages from everyone, and ninety percent of what we say to each other _isn’t_ that—“

 

“ _No, it’s—it’s fine. It’s just, um. Weird, you know, to be part of someone else’s conversation like that. Out of context.”_

 

“If you want, I know we said we were never going to do this, but if you want, I can show you my phone, the next time we’re together, and we can talk—“

 

“ _God, no, babe, I am not going to allow us to become_ that _couple.”_

 

Kurt laughs as he says it. Right. This is no big deal. They have every reason to trust each other.

 

“ _I love you, and I trust you, okay? And like I said I'm just so, so ready to be past that part of our life, and onto our wonderful future."_

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trent and Nick both text him separately, around the same time, asking why they didn’t see him[ at the Warbler’s Sectionals today](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11162142/chapters/26242059). He’s a little bit surprised. He and Trent keep up often enough on Facebook, but he hasn’t spoken to Nick in months. Did they both just really want to see him?

 

 **Blaine:** I could’ve gone now that I think about it. I’m sorry. Did you guys win???

 **Trent:** Yes! Kurt and Sebastian were here. Thought you’d be with them. Miss you!

 

 **Blaine:** I could’ve gone now that I think about it. I’m sorry. Did you guys win???

 **Nick:** Hells yeah we won. Kurt was here. With Sebastian. They cool now? Thought it was a feud

 

It wouldn’t bother him as much if Blaine wasn’t still following Sebastian on Snapchat. Now that Sebastian and Kurt are “friends,” Blaine keeps checking, or asking Artie to check, Sebastian’s Story out for him. (“I don’t know that fool, I don’t wanna add him!” “C’mon, if I watch it, I look like a crazy stalker. Do it for me? Please?” “Alright, just no more puppy eyes. Damn. How does Kurt not give you everything you want?”)

 

It wouldn’t bother him if Kurt didn’t make an appearance in that Story almost every day. Usually, Kurt didn’t even know he was the subject. They were together a lot. At the library. Getting dinner with their shared friend Rachel. Sebastian even narrated Kurt trying and failing to open his umbrella one day _for a whole_ _three_ _minutes._ On Snapchat? That’s fucking ages. Kurt snarked back to the camera actively. It made Blaine miss him horribly, especially since they've barely texted this whole month. 

 

It wouldn’t bother him if, still, Blaine knows for a fact that Kurt can’t be doing anything wrong. He wouldn’t. Sebastian might be carrying a barely concealed a torch, but Kurt loves Blaine. Blaine feels loved. Sometimes. It’s just that he still isn’t used to the once every two or three weeks thing. This month, it’s pushing on three weeks in between. He doesn’t know why he cares so much. _We talk on the phone. Not as often as I'd like anymore, but still. I get to hear his perfect voice._ He could drive to school more often, Kurt doesn’t mind when he just shows up. But he wants to be invited.

 

[The one year anniversary of their first time is today](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11162142/chapters/26242059), and Blaine has been looking forward to it for weeks. Or at least, he was until he got those texts from Trent and Nick. He wishes he knew whether they’re just asking to ask, or asking because they think something’s amiss, but regardless, Blaine can’t bring himself to respond as he gets ready for his night out with Kurt at Du Garamond _._ He’s too embarrassed, because maybe, his relationship is falling apart before his eyes. Before everybody’s eyes. _Stop it,_ he thinks, looking at himself sternly in the mirror. _You’re about to meet the love of your life for a romantic anniversary after which he’s planning on fucking your brains out._

 

He orders a salad and an entree at Du Garamond. _Fuck you, anxiety, we’re eating tonight._ But Kurt looks so stiflingly gorgeous sitting across from him, that his stomach is tight as he tries to plow through his Caesar salad. The entree is even harder to get through. Kurt doesn’t notice that he’s pushing it around.

 

Their conversation is light. Funny. They’ve developed a lot of inside jokes over the years. Blaine sometimes forgets that they’re best friends. The boyfriend thing can be so overwhelming, time-consuming, that he forgets that this is just this person who knows him better than anyone else. This guy who knows how to make him laugh, whose favorite everythings he has memorized, who’s experienced so many things alongside him. If he can just focus on that…

 

But then, he sort of invites Kurt to the New Directions’ Regionals. Kurt starts saying that he thinks he’s going to be busy. _He’s not lying,_ Blaine thinks, he knows he isn’t, but his thoughts start spiraling. _He sure has time to go to_ _Warbler_ _Sectionals..._

 

“Hey, speaking of Glee.” Blaine’s trying to ask genuinely, not fishing. Hoping it’ll make him feel better. “Did you have fun at Warbler Sectionals?”

 

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not exactly what I thought I’d be doing on a Friday afternoon these days, but I had fun.”

 

But then Blaine’s wanting to ask follow up questions. _Who invited who? Who drove? Do you ever catch him staring at you the way I used to? Would you tell me?_

 

"Nick and Trent texted me,” he decides to come out and say, “telling me that they saw you there, and that it was nice to see you, and—I don’t know, I just figured you would tell me while you were there that you were at a Dalton event, the school we used to go to together, with Sebastian, that’s all."

 

“I really don’t wanna talk about Sebastian tonight, okay?”

 

When their waiter comes to ask how everything’s tasting, Blaine answers, powering through his having been shut down. He can feel Kurt staring at him intently through the whole conversation.

 

When he looks back at Kurt, Blaine feels Kurt’s socked foot gently sliding up his shin.

 

“Hey.” Kurt speaking to him in that voice, eyelashes a flutter, makes Blaine’s brain turn into mush. “You look really, really good tonight.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Kurt lowers his voice a notch, sweeter, dirtier. “You wanna know how I think you could look even better?”

 

Blaine watches under the table as Kurt’s toes slip past his knee. He's breathless. “Tell me.”

 

“Naked. Tied up to my headboard.”

 

“Oh.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

They discussed via text, beforehand, that Blaine wants to be humiliated first. Just a little bit, with words. Then, bound with black rope, wrists tied up so far apart and so tight, he can’t bend his elbows. Knots nestled across chest, so that when he breathes, he can feel the roughness of the rope biting into his skin. Also, a ball gag in his mouth. Before its in, he wants Kurt to only allow him to speak with permission. Wants Kurt to be very vocal the whole time.

 

 **Blaine:** Like the stuff you usually say. Just don’t hold back. I want to hear everything.

 **Kurt:** God.

 **Blaine:** You can hit me a little bit too.

 **Kurt:** I don’t know if I can do that.

 **Blaine:** Only if you want to.

 **Kurt:** Okay.

 **Kurt:** Because of the gag, your mouth will be out of commission. Safeword?

 **Kurt:** Some kind of gesture I’d imagine. Shaking your head no very obviously?

 **Blaine:** Works for me.

 

Kurt apparently read the articles Blaine sent him about the rope, and practice. With ease, he ties them tight across Blaine’s abdomen. The burning feeling, the roughness, and the pressure are just as much an aphrodisiac as he imagined.

 

“I’m so upset with you.” Kurt begins to fasten the wrist restraints. “For earlier tonight. How dare you sit across from me and look all innocent and tempting on purpose, trying to turn me on at the restaurant.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Oh, no, _I’m_ sorry. Did I say you could speak?”

 

Kurt yanks at the rope around Blaine’s right wrist hard, and the dash of throbbing pain makes him smile, sends his blood flow straight fucking south.

 

“You can answer that,” Kurt says.

 

Blaine hesitates on purpose, melting under Kurt's harsh stare. “No.”

 

Kurt binds his other wrist. “You’re really trying to make me punish you tonight, aren’t you? Is that what you want? Answer.”

 

“Yes.”

 

When Kurt shoves the ball gag into his mouth, his jaw pops, and he feels a flash of panic. Strange, deeply arousing panic. Like Kurt is in complete control of his breathing. 

 

“I’m gonna make you wait. Right when you think you’re going to get yours, I’m taking it. That’s what you get, you know that’s what you get, for being such a fucking beautiful tease all the time."

 

Kurt starts giving it to him slow. Blaine is trembling everywhere. “You want more? You think you deserve more? It’s only been five minutes and you’re already squirming. Don’t you dare come with out my permission, do you hear me?”

 

The subspace is so much, and Blaine breaks all the rules on purpose; coming three times, whimpering like a needy slut, agitating Kurt’s dom, making him say filthy things he wishes he could record, listen to at night. He’s in pain alright, skin red, raw and chafing under the ropes, the burn in his arms and legs from being outstretched making him shake, and his open jaw, slick with spit, aching. He only wishes, so badly, Kurt would slap him across the face; wishes he could beg for it, beg for blood, beg for pressure and sharp shock.

 

Just when Kurt is finally starting to look like he’s getting close, Blaine feels that flash of panic, like actually his body can’t take the pain or being this out of control. Like he wants it stop. He knows it isn’t real, knows _Kurt_ would never treat him like this, but he starts to get lost in the idea that it is. That Kurt really thinks that he’s so desperate. _But aren’t I_ _desperate for him_ _?_ _Wouldn’t I let him do worse?_ _Walk all fucking over me?_ _Fuck, I deserve this, I do._ Decides again that he _doesn’t_ want it to stop, that he would let Kurt hurt him to the ends of the world.

 

When Kurt comes, Blaine is overwhelmed; the most beautiful boy he’s ever then starts with gentle, nonverbal aftercare, undoing the ropes, cradling Blaine’s face. Blaine’s exhaustion makes him start to cry. He starts to think that maybe something’s wrong with him. Shame over his wants. Why would he _want_ Kurt to hit him?

 

“Oh my god.” When Kurt realizes Blaine is crying, he starts to panic. “I knew I took it too far. Why didn’t you shake your head?”

 

 _Because I love you? Becau_ _se I wanted to be_ sure _just how much?_ “Because, it was like—I wanted it to stop, but I didn’t want it to stop. You know?”

 

“No.” Kurt shakes his head miserably. “I don’t, I don’t know.”

 

“Oh, baby, it’s, uh—it’s fine, I still came, a lot, you saw that. I just um, tried to keep telling myself it was a game, but then I imagined you were actually upset at me, and that you hated me, and I—”

 

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, we don’t ever have to do this again.”

 

“Come here.”

 

Blaine hugs him close, but the rawness of his skin pressing against Kurt’s smooth chest is burning him. Kurt cries, soft and faint against his shoulder, and Blaine breaks. _I can’t keep doing this to you._

 

“It wasn’t bad for me, okay? It was confusing, really arousing and confusing. You were perfect, Kurt, you were gorgeous, I guess I just—have a lot to think about. Okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

On the drive to take Blaine back, they stop for a while in front of Blaine’s house. Kissing goodbye in Kurt’s car, Blaine suddenly feels hit with this wave that this could be the last time. That any time could really. He slinks himself into Kurt’s lap, kissing his boyfriend’s neck relentless and idolatrous. Leaving bruises and hickies. Kurt’s whimpers make him feel all ragged and desperate.

 

“I love you so much,” Kurt says, clinging to Blaine’s shirt, “I’d never actually think those things about you—mmh—you know that, right?”

 

“I love you too, it’s okay, I love you, I love you—”

 

But it’s this night that Blaine knows for sure that things between them have changed. He would’ve said anything to Kurt in that car, anything to get the drug. He showers afterwards, the abrasions from the night stinging under the hot water. He realizes: he was so obsessed with what tonight might mean for him, waiting for it to open some kind of floodgates to nirvana, that he’s completely lost track of everything else for weeks. Important senior midterms are next week, most state school applications are due at the end of the month, and he hasn’t even cared. He hasn’t wanted anything but the chase of searching for completion in Kurt.

 

Kurt loves him, and he loves Kurt more than anything in this world. But that love isn’t fixing him, isn't making his darkness turn into light. He gets it, for the first time in his life, that no one else besides himself can fix himself. Not even his beautiful Kurt, who tries so hard.

 

He gets out of the shower, staring at his own naked body in the mirror. He feels like he's floating outside himself. He’s gotten thin. His dark eyes have growing circles under them. His pupils are dilated. He can’t remember the last time he ate something that wasn’t a few strategic bites. _He can’t let go._

 

He needs to stop. Needs something desperately to change within him. Needs time to clear his head. Needs to separate himself from vices and passions alike. He wants to, no needs to, disappear for a little while.

 

Just a break. To stop hurting Kurt and to stop hurting himself. Kurt, as his best friend, will understand that, right? Kurt, as his best friend, will love him the same?

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next night, Saturday night, he, Artie and Sam convene in Artie’s room. Blaine and Artie had studied four hours first, worked on college applications for most of the early evening. Blaine felt that quiet time was what just what the doctor ordered. Since Sam got there at nine, though? They’ve been drinking.

 

It’s midnight. Artie is asleep on his bed (conked out from losing their most recent King’s Cup game, too drink in the pot). Sam and Blaine are on their usual couch. Their thighs are touching. They’ve been talking for hours.

 

Blaine is the kind of drunk where he feels that his heart's dangling from his sleeve. He's still exhausted from last night, so the alcohol is making him feel slow, sated, and heavy. Luckily, Sam’s a safe party to be this kind of drunk around. It almost feels the same as him being alone.

 

“Ever since...Tyler, I’ve felt this, like...damning sense that I can’t trust my own brain. I can’t control the part of me that senses whether or not I’m in danger anymore. I can't trust myself. Instead of being able to make decisions, I freeze. Last night, with Kurt...I’ll spare you the details, it’s...embarrassing. But I really, really hurt him. I saw, for the first time, I _really_ saw how much my issues are holding him back. _Us_ back. But when I try to talk about it? Apologize? He hushes me, says it’s going to be fine. I'm afraid to talk to him right now. I feel like he’s afraid of me. The real me.”

 

The look on Sam’s face is what Blaine hopes is deeply sympathetic. “That’s some heavy shit,” he says.

 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

 

“No, no, I don’t mean like, that’s some heavy shit, I don’t care, see a therapist, I just mean like. Damn. I get it, I’m the exact same way, I’m this—big, gaping, bleeding heart. Girls are always getting freaked out. Quinn booked it the second I spilled my guts and gave her a promise ring. I thirsted after Mercedes for months, _months_ before she even started looking my way. And Kurt, you know, he feels like he has to take care of everyone. That’s always been his thing, he’s master of the high road. So much so that sometimes it’s like, dude, get _fucking_ mad about this. With Karofsky, we couldn’t even believe it. He _still_ looked out for that guy. If it’d been me? I actually did punch him.”

 

Blaine remembers, now, that Sam has known Kurt for longer, and in a different way. He knows the two of them don’t speak much anymore, but knowing Sam has always cared about Kurt? It makes him feel like Sam’s a safe confidant. Like Sam’s not going to give him ill advice.

 

“My point is,” Sam says, “I know it sucks, but you gotta do something drastic to get him to understand. Don’t beat around the bush. Kurt doesn’t like to dwell on the negatives in life, but sometimes you have to. Sit him down, direct. Tell him everything that's been weighing on both you guys. With Quinn, you know, I spent months trying to _hint_ to her, starting fights over her leaving her eyelash glue all over the bathroom in our hotel. Then finally, one day, I said just said it. ‘Look me in the eye right now and tell me you didn’t fuck Finn.’ Finally, that got her. None of that ‘baby, I feel like you’re being really distant’ crap is gonna work. It’s too vague.”

 

Blaine nods, punctuating that dose of reality with a drink from his flask. He knows that Sam’s right. It’s just confirmation of what he’d figured out the night before. Still, he wants to go back. _I don’t wan_ _na_ _let Kurt go. I don't wanna take a break. I’m afraid that if i take a step back, he’ll run._

 

“Sorry if I’m coming off kinda harsh,” Sam says now. “I just hate seeing you bottle stuff up.”

 

Blaine stares down at the vodka in the flask. “No, no. I need harsh these days.”

 

“Wanna draw on Artie’s face and mess with him and see how long it takes him to wake up?”

 

“Oh, yeah. He got me _so_ bad last time...”

 

He blacks out somewhere in between he and Sam playing the drinking game version of two truths and a lie, and Sam doing a makeshift stripper performance. When he wakes on the couch at four a.m., he’s cold. He’s wearing both of Sam’s layered tees instead of his own sweater. The soft cotton collars are pulled up over his nose; they smell like Sam's skin, distinct. Artie is in the same place he was hours ago, snoring, monocle and Jigglypuff caricature still drawn on his face. Whipped cream melted from his hands and pooling on the floor.

 

Sam comes back into the room from the bathroom shirtless, nursing a bottle of Southern Comfort. His abdomen has a diagram of what looks like the board game Operation scribbled all over it in black marker. Blaine knows he must’ve done that to him, at some point. In this light, Sam’s body is looking kind of ridiculous, that hard v-cut accentuated, jeans slung low, underwear band thick and grey beneath his jutting hip bones. Blaine bitterly thinks about the things he’s seen all weekend, Kurt and Sebastian cozy all over Sebastian’s Snapchat, and lets himself look at his friend’s body,

 

Sam knows he’s watching. Knows he's hot. Notices Blaine staring, doesn’t even falter.

 

“You don’t remember you going all Grey’s Anatomy on me trying to map out my organs,” Sam says, smiling, “do you?”

 

Blaine flushes, chuckles, finally tearing his eyes away. “No.”

 

Sam comes to join him on the couch, taking a swig of the liquor and handing the bottle to Blaine.

 

"I'm tapping out," Blaine says, though he still takes the bottle. Just to hold it. "I need to stop all this nonsense."

 

Sam takes the bottle back, and then sighs, pressing his lips together. Looking at Blaine like he has something to say.

 

"What?" Blaine asks him.

 

"When you took off your shirt. I saw. Red lashes, everywhere. What, are you burning yourself now?"

 

"Ah." Blaine's stomach twists, the shame burning hot beneath his face. "Rope burns."

 

"Oh. Shit."

 

"Yeah."

 

They say no more to each other; early morning, as the sun rises, they both knock out on the couch. Blaine wakes up an hour later, untangling his legs from the loose hold Sam's arms had developed around them in his sleep, searching Artie's cluttered floor for the sweater he apparently discarded. His body is betraying him; he wonders how the hell he'd wound up half-naked in the first place; how he'd found himself scribbling down Sam's abs with a pen. Sam will tell him tomorrow, he's sure. But how can he keep living like this? Two separate people, one inhabiting the drunk body, the other the sober? He can't. Not anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 **Sebastian:** I need Kurt's number. Thanks.

 

[The next night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11162142/chapters/26443935), the last thing Blaine needs is to hear from _this_ guy directly. 

 

 **Blaine:** Given the time of night it is, why?

 **Sebastian:** Because I'm booty calling him. Damn, you caught me red handed. It's late and I'm horny as all get out, asking you, his boyfriend, to give me his number, so I can finally get up in that sweet, tight ass of his, tell him all my fantasies of fucking him senseless.

 

Blaine’s heart slams against the wall of his chest. He’d almost gone the entire day not thinking about it, and now, _this._ Sebastian, in real time, saying he has fantasies. Calling Kurt's ass tight and sweet. This was much worse than _'not yet.'_ If it wasn't a joke? This was a threat.

 

 **Blaine:** Fuck you. That isn't funny.

 **Sebastian:** Are you dense? If I was going to sext Kurt, or even touch him for that matter, I'd do it behind your back. And I'd be prepared, with his number among other things. But, not to worry. I have no interest in diddling him as long as you’re around.

 

Like he’s banking on Blaine not being around much longer. Why doesn’t Kurt see it?

 

 **Sebastian:** I'm locked out of the room. I need him to open the door for me. But since this is taking too long, and since nothing is ever simple with you, Blaine, I'll just call my RA.

 

Blaine surrenders, knowing Sebastian will just get it his own way if he doesn’t. Turns his phone on Do Not Disturb. Slinks himself into bed. Knows what he has to do, can’t make himself.

 

 **Blaine:** Hey, Kurt. We need to talk.

 **Blaine:** Hey, Kurt. We need to talk. It's not bad or anything, but...okay, maybe it is bad.

 

He erases the message every time, starting them over, draft after draft. Thinking about the night they first talked about getting married, this spring. They were in Kurt's bed. Blaine had his head resting on Kurt’s chest, could hear Kurt's heartbeat fluttering fast within, wanted to end his nights like this one for the rest of his life:

 

“I want to,” Kurt said. “I think we should. As soon as it makes sense financially, I—well, I can’t imagine anything else. You kind of saved my life. You know that? I would’ve saved myself, eventually, pulled myself up by my heeled Chanel bootstraps. But you saw me along. You really, really did. That day I saw you at the bottom of that staircase...I’ve never felt so moved in my life, to this day. You took my hand, and you sang to me, and I already knew, after an hour, that was it. I was in love. And that may sound silly and ridiculous, but here we are today, you know? That’s why I don’t think we’re too young, or being unrealistic. I knew. I always knew. And I always will.”

 

 

_End of Part One_


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this took forever because I know 90% of SBAIY readers/Kurtbastian stans don't give a shit about Blaine lol but I wanted to finish his POV anyway, because I love him. Here is this. Enjoy & please let me know what you think if you've read. <3

 

 

 

 

_Part Two_

 

 

 

 

 

Blaine wakes up the following Monday morning at five a.m. Too early. Restless was his sleep, and he couldn't force himself to resume it, so he decided to go downstairs, turn on the coffee pot. Not without taking a shot or two from his flask first. It's almost empty.

 

At the foot of the stairs, he sees his parents, awake. Also too early. Waiting for him.

 

"Mom, Dad." They're sitting at the dining room table, side by side, staring at him gravely from behind their reading glasses. He hesitantly sits before them. "Is everything okay?"

 

His mother speaks first. “No, Blaine, it's not. Where were you Saturday night?"

 

Blaine's heartbeat skips, his stomach drops.

 

"I was at Artie's, down the street, like I promised. I wasn't lying."

 

She covers her nose with her hand, briefly. "You reek of liquor."

 

He tries to stealth-sniff his clothes.

 

"How often are you drinking?" his mother interrogates.

 

“Barely, Mom—”

 

“So if we walk into our bar right now, we won’t find half the contents of our bottles replaced with water?”

 

At this, Blaine knows he's fucked. “Uh, yeah?”

 

His dad sighs, takes off his glasses, pinches the brim of his nose. “We never should’ve taken him out of Dalton.”

 

“Peter—”

 

“He has to go back. I won’t have him throwing his life down the drain and imbibing like a teenage alcoholic. What would the headmaster think? If she'd even have him back.”

 

"They'll take our ten thousand dollars a semester, I know that."

 

“You guys, can we please talk?" Blaine's voice is starting to shake a little bit. "Talk to me. I’m right here.”

 

“You get straight A's on your finals next week," his dad says, finally speaking to him directly, "and finish all your college applications by that Friday, or we’re pulling the plug on this McKinley."

 

Blaine hates to imagine going back to Dalton at this stage, a senior transfer for just his last semester only, having to explain to all the boys why he's even come back. His mind is not even that distraught at leaving McKinley, he thinks right now; he's miserable, anyway, even with Artie and Sam's companionship. But wouldn't Dalton, as a rubric to just how far he's slidden back in his personal and love life, just make that worse?

 

“I don’t think we should allow you to go to Kurt’s house for Thanksgiving this weekend," his mother says. "Or ever again. He's clearly not a good influence."

 

“What?" Blaine panics. "C’mon, Kurt’s home, like, barely any days anymore." _And_ he _doesn't drink._ "This is the first time we’ll spending quality time together in—”

 

“Quality time?" His father scoffs, laughs darkly. "You aren’t married. Quality time should be neither of your priorities. At least he’s out a getting a degree. What are you doing with your life? Not finishing your applications in time to get into a decent school.”

 

Blaine spends the rest of his afternoon at school knowing he's not prepared at all to get straight A's on all of his finals. British Literature and Late American History, sure, but Calculus and Chemistry II? Even with Artie's tutoring, he's going to have to stare at his textbooks for eight hours a day, at least, if he wants that grade. He doesn't know if he can do this.

 

So all day, he’s avoiding Kurt. Because he’s embarrassed. Not just about his parents’ disapproval, but because he just can’t do this in a normal way; he obsesses. How Kurt looks at him and how Kurt feels about him become the only things that matter. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses him.

 

It makes him feel like he should force himself to lose Kurt before this gets any worse.

 

[During the homework session he has that night, Kurt calls him](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11162142/chapters/26443935). As much he knows he needs to start letting go, he doesn't want to ignore the one thing that might give him a shimmer of hope, right now. When Kurt offers that they should FaceTime, desperate, he takes it. Kurt's alone in his dorm room, pale and lovely, seems to be woefully ignorant of any way Sebastian might be acting towards him, judging by the conversation Blaine just had with Sebastian. Blaine wants to be happy for Kurt, that he's obviously oblivious to it, and happy. But it hurts, imagining that this can't go on much longer. He doesn’t want to apply anywhere out of state because it means he’ll get to see Kurt even less, but every school he ever wanted to go to pre-Kurt is out of state. He desperately wants to leave the state to be hundreds of miles from his parents, and be able to live his life without their judgement. Plus, his parents won’t pay for him to apply anywhere they don’t approve of or see as worthy of his intelligence, and none of those schools are in Ohio.

 

It's inevitable. He knows it is. He just doesn't know how it's going to end, how he could possibly bring it up while staring Kurt in his lovely face. Instead, he wants to soak up as much of as Kurt as he can, these last few moments.

 

He and Kurt do what they've often done and leave each other on the line as they tend to their own business; Blaine studies chemistry at his desk as Kurt prepares for one of his finals, as well. Blaine [has a song stuck in his head](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQAMlBczD0Q); he thinks it's a solo contender for Regionals. He practices it, softly from time to time, for Kurt to hear if he wants to.

 

Finally, post midnight, he waits for Kurt to fall asleep to hang up the phone; can hear him humming and ruffling around, changing clothes, then his sheepish, garbled whispsers, “G’night, l’you,” as he turns over onto his other side on his bed, burrows in, and soon, starts snoring. The white light of his phone illuminates his shoulder, and Blaine stares at it, wondering why Kurt doesn’t want him there. How easy it is for Kurt to sleep without him now. He hangs up with Kurt once he's sure he's asleep because he can’t take the longing of staring at his back, wishing to be pressed up against his skin.

 

 

 

 

 

That Wednesday, the night before Thanksgiving, Blaine is invited to the Hudmel household for what they’d initiated last year: unofficial “in-law” Thanksgiving festivities held for Blaine (and Tina, when she was with Finn) for what they would miss when they were with their own families. Despite his parents' insistence that they wouldn't let him go to Kurt's, to his surprise, when Blaine turns up before them dressed for dinner at 4 o'clock, wishful thinking, hoping, they still let him go. His dad warns, however, of the impending consequences of this distraction. "Straight A's, or else," he says as Blaine walks out the front door. "Got it, Dad."

 

Blaine thinks he’s changed his mind one last time when spending time with Kurt’s family; Finn, Burt and Carole are like his family now; they have embraced him and cook for him. Finn is one of Blaine’s good friends, even though they don’t always see each other, they genuinely care for each other and equally care about protecting Kurt. And Kurt seems so blissed out and happy. Kurt is the center of this little family, doing a majority share of the cooking and preparing everyone’s cider; it was him who brought Burt and Carole together, the matchmaker that he is. Kurt loves love, and Blaine used to feel jaded, before Kurt, fearful for his life that after Tyler, nothing was going to feel safe ever again. This feels safe.

 

Until it doesn’t.

 

On Black Friday, Kurt wants to take Blaine shopping, so Blaine lies, telling his parents he's going to study at the county library and instead taking the trip with Kurt to the Lima mall. He's irritable, because with every passing second, of Kurt forcing him to try on things that normally, he'd be amused to try on—he usually loves and is so flattered by Kurt's obsession with his body, always wanting to try out different looks he has in his head on him—he knows he should be staring at the list of formulas for the Calculus final. Trying to go over them in his head while Kurt is taunting him about hot pink jeans is not going over well.

 

At lunch, Blaine waits for Kurt to return the food court table with a tray with two salads, and iced tea and a Coke on it. When Kurt hands Blaine's salad to him, he realizes it's not the one he asked for; as if he were really going to eat it all, anyway. He should really tell Kurt about him not wanting to eat, shouldn't he? Sam seems to think it's a problem. He knows his energy levels are low because of it. But what can Kurt do, anyway? Blaine needs to start learning how to handle his issues himself.

 

“What?” Kurt said, staring down at the food self-consciously when Blaine hesitates to eat it. “Did I screw this up?”

 

“No, it’s—“ Blaine shook his head. “I wanted cranberry apple walnut instead of blueberry walnut vinaigrette, but it’s okay, I’ll still eat it—”

 

“Oh, no, here.” Kurt unchained his wallet from his belt loop and handed it over to his boyfriend. “Go and buy what you want, I’ll just save this one for my dad. He and his bad heart need it more than you do, anyway.”

 

Blaine takes the wallet back to salad stand, not wanting to raise suspicion by putting up resistance. Noticing, as he fishes for cash once he's finally at the end of the long line, the presence of a playing card slipped between Kurt's old receipts and credit cards. Nine of hearts. Written with Kurt’s name on it. Blaine's immediately drawn back to the second time he met Sebastian: there in the Lima Bean, Sebastian showed him a certain magic trick involving a disappearing card with _his_ name written on it.

 

It’s nothing, he tells himself, nothing except that those tricks are clearly flirting moves. He vows not to say anything.

 

When he gets back to the table, he’s quiet, then; pushing his fork around his food instead of actually eating it. Kurt, meanwhile, was starving, even after the giant sandwich he said he'd had earlier, practically shoving his food into his mouth. Graceless as he is as he eats, he's so gorgeous; Blaine is sick with confliction.

 

"I was just thinking," Blaine says, trying to say anything to keep himself out his own mind. "You've changed, ever since going off to college. I mean, physically. You look older."

 

Kurt finishes his clumsily-portioned bite, shrugging. "You think so?" He makes a face. "I don't know, I feel like I've looked the same since my junior year.”

 

Blaine stares at his face fondly, remembering that year, meeting Kurt on the Dalton stairs, leading him through hallways hand-in-hand.

 

Until Kurt says, “Is this...a bad thing?”

 

"No, no," Blaine says, straightening up. "You've just grown up. You've blossomed, Kurt."

 

“Aww, well thank you. Oh, when did you say you have to be home again?"

 

"They claim they don’t care, but I know they want me home at least before eleven." Blaine fidgets with the sleeves of his sweater. "They’ve been giving me a lot of crap about you lately, more than usual. They didn't want me hanging out with you again today."

 

Kurt just rolls his eyes, probably thinking, _same old, same old._

 

"It's because you're not around so much anymore, at college and all that," Blaine adds, resuming his salad pushing. "Far away. Busy."

 

Kurt deadpans him. "I still live in Ohio.”

 

"I know. They just still really think that I'm wasting my time with you."

 

"Do you think you're wasting your time?"

 

Blaine hesitates.

 

"No," he says then, hurriedly. "No, it's just—hard, to hear them tell me that stuff every day when I don't get to see you. They ask me if I'm still with you, and then they ask why I even bother, and I do feel really, really lonely when you're not here. It just gets me down."

 

Kurt pouts sympathetically. "Well, at least next year when you’re in college, what your parents think won't matter as much, right?”

 

Blaine hesitates again.

 

“I hope so.”

 

When Kurt reaches for Blaine’s hand across the table, rubbing soothingly, his expression changes. It falls. He gets the same look on his face that he had the night he had to tell Blaine that he’d ruined the clothes he left over on laundry day by drying them when he shouldn’t have; the look he got when he told Blaine that he’d applied to NYADA, in New York, miles away from him. Guilt.

 

"Hey," Kurt says, squeezing Blaine’s hand. "Not to be a Debbie downer on the already somber mood, but—I have something that I need to tell you."

 

_Oh, God, he's breaking up with me first. I should've known—_

 

"It's not—nothing happened. And I don’t wanna break up, ever. I just wanted to tell you. That. Sebastian came onto me the other day."

 

Blaine doesn’t mean to rip his hand from Kurt’s, but the thought of Sebastian's hands on Kurt, and those messages— _so I can finally get up in that_ _sweet, tight ass_ _of his,_ _t_ _ell him_ _all_ _my fantasies of fucking him sensele_ _ss—_ make his anger flare something serious.

 

"See, I knew it!" Blaine wants to break. "I knew that he was interested in you, Kurt!"

 

"He’s not—" Kurt seems to starts to deny the whole thing, but changes course. "Wait, just listen—"

 

"What exactly does 'come on' even mean?"

 

"It was a text message, a series of them, and um—remember what I was wearing, on Halloween?"

 

 _That night I thought Sebastian was, apparently, nowhere in sight. Did they see each other?_ “Yeah, I remember it.” 

 

"He complimented me on it, and apparently he—fantasized about me, in that outfit, or something, and decided because of that that now he has a crush, and then decided to tell me about it because he's Sebastian, and he thinks the world’s his plaything, but—I promise, I didn't engage, and I didn’t want it.”

 

Blaine thinks about the cold, hard fact that cheating, if this _is_ that, isn’t one mistake. It’s a series of mistakes. It’s all the times you know someone’s flirting, that instinct every guy has, how could Kurt have just not known _any_ of it was coming?

 

And see, this was the problem; they were so tunnel vision about their relationship that they were ignoring other very blatant things going on around them. Like the fact that Kurt was starting to develop feelings for another guy, and Blaine was starting to wonder if he should move far away, if getting a fresh start with everything is what _he_ needs, and what Kurt _will_ need is someone who’s there 24/7.

 

"You know just as well as I do that it doesn't mean anything coming from him,” Kurt says, “I think at this point he’s tried making it with every guy his age he’s ever met.”

 

Still, thinking about Kurt in Sebastian’s arms is too much at this moment. He can’t even bring himself to look at Kurt.

 

"What did you say, in response?” He has to know. “When he complimented you."

 

"I—I can't lie, and say that I wasn't flattered by his comments about the clothes themselves, because I worked really, really hard on that costume, you know that. But I told him, in person, that he can't say things like that to me ever again, and that I'm not interested in him, because I'm not."

 

Blaine still can’t look at him.

 

“I don’t know if it’s possible at this point in the semester, but maybe I can see about trying to move out again,” Kurt persists.

 

At this, Blaine finally looks at him.

 

This is going to be so hard.

 

“You believe me when I say that there’s nothing going on,” Kurt says. “Right?”

 

Blaine smiles through the hurt, and knows that what he says next is is a lie; that maybe Kurt knows that he's lying to himself.

 

"Yeah," Blaine says, faint. He swallows hard, holds back tears. "Thank you, for telling me. I'm glad that I know."

 

The rest of the day, Kurt’s texting someone furiously. Blaine can't help but assume it’s still Sebastian. He needs to know for sure, but he can’t look over Kurt’s shoulder well enough, can’t try to slip Kurt’s phone out of his pocket.

 

Instead of coping well, as he should, he drinks.

 

When they show up to the Old New Directions reunion party at Puck’s, Blaine willfully ignores his mother's text messages— _you should've been home hours ago, your father is upset, where are you?—_ because social interaction plus booze is what he needs right now to distract him from the worst thing he's ever going to have to in his life. Everyone seems glad to see him, which briefly helps with the self-hating, longing stares at Kurt across the room as he catches up with Mike, Brittany, Mercedes. Telling them all about his fabulous new life with the fabulous new Sebastian Smythe as his roommate.

 

Sam is at least by Blaine's side that night when Kurt isn't. Though Blaine's still embarrassed about the whole losing his sweater and somehow ending up wearing Sam's shirts while black out drunk thing. Sam doesn't even seem to care or remember that it happened, despite them semi-promising to talk about what Blaine forgot at some point. Sam's just being a good best friend instead; in high spirits, trying to cheer Blaine up though Blaine hasn't told him exactly what's wrong tonight.

 

“Kurt always looks so snazzy,” Sam comments at one point, as they watch him and Mercedes dance across the way. “It’s like he stepped right out of a magazine page."

 

“Tell me about it. How am I supposed to break things off when he looks like _that_?”

 

“Break things off?” Sam pushes him lightly in the chest towards a corner, lowering his voice at him. “Like, right now?”

 

“Why not? I was right, he and Sebastian have been flirting. He’s started to move on. The band-aid’s gotta come off, and it’s gonna suck no matter what, so might as well rip it off now."

 

“You want my advice?” Sam looks deadly serious. “Don’t do it in public, and don't do it while you’re plastered.”

 

“I’m not plastered.”

 

“We agreed to play corners against Puck and Finn, so you will be. We'll both be, damn.”

 

As they play, Blaine focuses on the game and on Sam; specifically, Blaine wonders about Sam and Mercedes. He sees them constantly making eyes and gestures to each other across the room throughout the game, the whole party. Sam constantly says Mercedes isn’t his girlfriend, but now that she's back in town, they seem coupled as fuck. Blaine has always liked and supported them being together. He just wonders, that’s all. Sam is woefully short on details.

 

He gets black out drunk at some point during the game. He doesn’t remember the rest of what happens: not puking in Puck's bathroom, not the tearful conversations with Kurt that would follow, or even getting home. When he wakes up in his own bedroom to a text from Kurt asking how he's feeling, he’s mortified at the hours he lost. Again.

 

"Shit." He runs a hand through his hair, which is ungelled, a little damp, and curly-curly. He must've showered last night, somehow. God, his parents were probably downstairs waiting for him, again. "I'm so grounded."

 

He gets up and goes downstairs, however, to find them gone. He can't imagine where they are on a Saturday morning that isn't indoor golf with his father's firm associates; but they usually do that on the second Saturday of the month, not the fourth. Huh.

 

He knows that if they are at golf, he has at least four hours until they return.

 

Four hours to say goodbye to his life.

 

He gets back to his room and finds that Kurt has called him, and he's missed it. He calls back, his head pounding, too exhausted and too rattled with guilt and already feeling like he wants to cry when Kurt happily suggest that they get Blaine some hangover breakfast from their favorite diner in Ada. He agrees, because he has to see Kurt; has to know for sure what he needs to do.

 

Throughout breakfast, he's still conflicted. Kurt won't talk to him about Sebastian, hasn't mentioned it at all again, and Blaine won't ask; but when they get back to the house, and Blaine lets Kurt into his bedroom, Kurt leaves his phone alone on Blaine's dresser.

 

Blaine's heart races as he quickly opens it up, knowing the password from Kurt having trusted him with that information once, to look at his phone for him — he goes to that dark place, knows this will topple his mental stability, but —

 

Seeing the texts themselves just make everything worse. Seeing them so friendly, seeing the inside jokes, the  _where are you?_ sand  _I'm on my way_ 's that make it clear they see each other constantly. The familiarity. The fact that Kurt texts Sebastian when he's bored, more than Blaine, more than anyone.

 

And this:

 

 **Kurt:** You mean my Halloween costume? The one that you made fun of to no end?

 

 **Sebastian:** It looked gorgeous on you, Kurt. Sexy.

 

 **Sebastian:** Don't let that go to your head either, princess. I'm just being honest.

 

 **Kurt:** I’m sorry, is this you? In what universe do you, Sebastian Smythe, find me ‘gorgeous and sexy’?

 

 **Sebastian:** This universe. The one we live in now.

 

 **Sebastian:** You are gorgeous, Kurt. Your eyes, your style. Your heart.

 

 **Sebastian:** And that little red outfit, that night? Very. Hot.

 

 **Kurt:** You’re joking with me, and I don’t think it’s funny. You told me I looked like, and I quote, an embarrassing excuse for a jester.

 

 **Sebastian:** It was your body. You wear things that look like they were dragged out of the chest of Victorian divorcée most days, but you have a stunning body, Kurt. The kind I’ve caught myself wanting to be wrapped around. That outfit of yours showed you off, and well. I was drunk that night, but I remember.

 

 **Sebastian:** You were wearing those tight, red pants. Didn't even look like your pretty legs could breathe in them. You were hardly wearing a shirt, and had that damn little corset on, too. You walked into the room and I swear, I’ve never wanted anyone so badly in my life. You can't possibly blame me. Any gay man with eyes should've wanted to stare at you, and much more.

 

 **Sebastian:** But like I said. Don't let it go to your head. It's just something I thought, just a compliment. Nothing more.

 

That night, Kurt came out of the frat house alone, looking all shaken, and the way he has been acting towards Blaine ever since...Blaine had thought that he was triggered by the shooting, and perhaps that was some of it, but that wasn’t it, was it? It was too what happened with Sebastian, that night, whatever it was.

 

Blaine knows that he will never know what went on in the dark. The detail with which Sebastian remembered him, the red fabric, those legs. It's hard for Blaine not to flirt with the worst. And that kills him. 

 

When Kurt comes out of the bathroom, still acting like everything's hunky-dorky between them, something in Blaine snaps for good.

 

"That coffee was amazing, but I still feel like I haven’t slept in weeks,” Kurt says, coming to sit on Blaine's bed.

 

Blaine sits down on the bed too, but he leaves a lot of distance between them.

 

“I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks because I have the worst fucking headache of my life,” he starts.

 

"I like nursing you back to health sometimes, but right now it feels pretty hard to be sorry for you," Kurt says casually, eyes wandering around the room. "You do this to yourself."

 

Blaine stares at the back of Kurt’s head miserably.

 

"I hate the way you get when you're drunk," Kurt says. "It's awful."

 

"Well, you’ve never told me that it bothers you, until last night, maybe. So."

 

"Why wouldn't it? You turn into a completely different person."

 

"I'm not an alcoholic.”

 

"I'm not saying you are, but that doesn't mean that when you drink around me, I like it, or think it's okay. I don't even understand why you drink."

 

"Well, I don't understand why you and Sebastian have been texting every day."

 

[ And then it begins...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11162142/chapters/26572800)

 

 

 

 

 

...and ends.

 

 

 

 

 

 

No one understands why Blaine did it.

 

In the aftermath of the break-up, the New Directions and mutual friends have been reacting to the news accordingly. He's the one who decided to change their official relationship status on Facebook, who couldn't for one more second stand the idea of everyone knowing Sebastian is flirting with someone who's taken. So he's removed himself from the equation. So what?

 

Was that supposed to make him feel better? It did in that he knows that, for the better, this probably needed to happen, but it doesn't for so many other reasons. Seeing their friends lament on Facebook, having Tina, Sam, Artie, Marley, and even Trent call him the rest of the weekend — he avoids everyone's calls, instead focusing on the fact that he's not going to be allowed to leave his parents' house socially for at least a month, unless he continues to sneak out, which he probably will. Regionals are coming up, and that means he needs to go over dance moves with his less inclined party members, late night practices at so-and-so's house or whatever. He also needs his friends, Sam and Artie, for moral support through this time.

 

His parents haven't brought up him having to leave school, at least yet, so unfortunately he still has to deal with the fallout at McKinley. Sam is the only one who isn’t (or doesn’t seem) _completely_ distraught at Blaine having broken up "Klaine;" Blaine skips school Monday, the anxiety of having to face everyone after they know what he did causing him to get off the bus and immediately walk away from campus, knowing he can afford to miss the classes just full of quiet test review to study on his own a local coffee shop—Lima Bean's out of the question, as that will just remind him, so he chooses another mom and pop he's seen near McKinley. He's probably more productive on his own, anyway. He'll text Artie to ask what he missed. Tuesday, though, Blaine walks into school and is distinctly aware that everyone in Glee club, band and theater circles is staring at him as he goes, knowing the news; looking at him like he must be so fragile, right now.

 

When Sam walks beside him in tandem when he sees him, asking, "Where were you yesterday?", he's relieved that his first question isn't something like "How are you holding up?" But he knows that's coming.

 

"I just needed to study. Alone."

 

"We were worried about you, everyone in Glee."

 

Blaine sighs, unscrewing his lock as Sam stands beside him.

 

“I don’t know," Sam says, "I feel like I was a bad influence in your decision to break up with Kurt. Mercedes says that Tina says that her girlfriend Rachel says that Kurt is, like, miserable about what happened. What exactly did you say to 'm?”

 

"I said what I needed to say," Blaine gives. "I said we're young, and we're just kids, and it's clear that we don't get along as well as we used to, and it's clear that he and Sebastian have feelings for each other, and we were just gonna break up anyway when I move for college because my parents hate Ohio for me and hate Kurt for me and I just — feel like a monster." 

 

"Hey, don't feel _that_ bad," Sam says. "These things happen, dude. It's high school."

 

Blaine gets what needs from his locker, gently shuts the door.

 

"Not for Kurt, it isn't."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why doesn’t Blaine reach out?

 

A week later, finals are finally through. He feels somewhat confident that he may've gotten A's on everything, because he made himself a zombie just to keep up. Artie let him borrow a couple of Adderall, which he'd always been nervous to try out before; Artie's ADHD, so the script is  _strong._ But they make it so that he's so zoned out of his personal life, and so zoned in to his books that he doesn't even realize Kurt is gone or anything. He doesn't care that he's not supposed to be leaving the house, because he doesn't even. The little white pills also make him completely lose his appetite more than he already has, which is convenient. He goes two days straight at a time without eating.

 

After his last final on Friday, the high from his last Adderall finally fading away, he starts to slowly fall back down into reality. All of a sudden, it's that morning again, over and over replaying in his mind that horrible conversation: watching Kurt cry, the way he'd lost control of himself, of sorts, raising his voice when he should've, being harsh when he shouldn't've.

 

Oh, Kurt, his beautiful love. What has he done?

 

So, what, life is hard, and his parents hate Kurt, and he's going to have to go the distance to go to college, and it would be difficult, keeping things up. But was that worth this? Maybe he could've tried to listen to what Kurt was saying, maybe Kurt does have conflicted feelings for Sebastian that he's in pretty much total denial of, but maybe his love for Blaine would've still shone through those.

 

Maybe he should've believed Kurt when he said that he still wanted to spend the rest of his life with him.

 

But now, he realizes sorely that he can’t just say _anything_ to get Kurt back. It has to be perfect, and he couldn’t come up with perfect now...

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blaine’s parents don’t believe in therapy. His father was told by Ada’s school psychologist that Blaine should probably see someone after the Sadie Hawkins incident. He'd laughed in the counselor's face during the meeting with she and Blaine.

 

“My wife and I support my son. He doesn't need the half-winded advice of some stranger to pull him through. It’s a waste of time to obsess over thoughts in the head. Real change requires actions. My son will perform the _actions_ he needs to get better. That is all.”

 

But these days, right now, Blaine wishes he could go to someone. He’s too scared straight to keep sneaking liquor from his parents' cabinet, so at nights, he can't sleep. Instead, he sweats, feels sick, lost his coping mechanism. On top of not being able to eat, and not having Kurt to tell his fears to, it makes him feel really fucking stir crazy. Blaine is eighteen, but still on his parents’ insurance; anyone he makes an appointment with or talks to will show up on their monthly statement. Does that matter?

 

As a segway, he makes an appointment with Ema Pillsbury, the closest thing he has nearby to a therapist.

 

"I wanted to thank you for coming to see me, Blaine," Ema says, as he enters her office the Monday after finals week; school is technically closed for winter break, for students, but teachers are still on campus grading finals and posting grades. When Blaine emailed her late that Saturday night, asking for help, she told him she could meet with him this morning. "It's not always easy to admit that you need to talk, so I'm really proud of you for having the courage to reach out. I know with everything that's been going on with Kurt, you must be having a hard time of things."

 

Blaine hadn't mentioned that in the email. "Even  _you_ know about that?"

 

Ema pauses for a moment, sympathetic. "I'm sorry. Kids talk," she says, sweetly. "You know, you and Kurt were like a beacon of hope for other gay and questioning kids at this school. People look up to the both of you."

 

Blaine scoffs, at that. "Well, I'm not much of a role model, up close. He is, maybe, but, my life is...sort of a disaster, right now. It has been, for months."

 

"What do you think is making you feel like your life's a disaster?"

 

"Kurt, for starters. Even before we broke up, there was this...last year, when he was a senior, this guy I met at Dalton. Sebastian. He was flirting with me, and I may not have dealt with it in the best way. It was flattering, and I thought maybe I could just ignore the flirting and we could be friends, but the guy was relentless. Kurt found out, and we fought, and it's been this quiet strain on our relationship ever since. Anyway, now, Kurt's living with the guy at Ohio State—"

 

"They chose to room together?"

 

"No. Random happenstance, I guess, which is  _crazy,_ but Kurt has feelings for him now. I think. Sebastian definitely has feelings for him, and Kurt  _says_ that he turned him down, but I had no proof of that, so, I let my insecurity get in the way, and I dumped him, and now I think—well, I think it might've been the biggest mistake. On top of that, I just finished applying to colleges, but—I'm so nervous I'm not going to get in anywhere, but even more nervous for when and if I even _do_ get in somewhere. My parents are strict, they want me to go to a really good school, so they're hard on me for my grades. Last year, I pulled a B- average, and my dad's Filipino, so anything less than an A is—"

 

"An Asian F," Ema says with him, in unison. She cracks a small smile at his look of surprise. "I know. Mike and Tina came to me for advice all about it."

 

"Right. I don't know, I just feel like I'm not really good enough for anybody. Not for Kurt, not for my parents. Not for myself."

 

"Okay. Well, something that helps me, personally, and something that's helped other students I've advised, is to make a list of all your accomplishments. Write them down, chronological, any awards or milestones that you can think of from when you were a child to this day's date. A lot of times, in America, we all feel very competitive because of the media and our culture, but many of us are so, so blessed and talented because of all the opportunity here. So many people don't even graduate elementary school, let alone high school, and you are more than on track to do that. You got into Dalton Academy, one of the most prestigious schools in the nation. You're a singer, you're a dancer. I'm sure there are a lot of great things you've done that can be hard to focus on in the moment, you know? But going back, and thinking about your life as a whole, over the course of several years, can sometimes help."

 

Blaine's willing to do the homework, if she's offering it. "Thanks."

 

"Is there anything else going on, that might be bothering you?"

 

Blaine stops, and as if to force itself into the conversation, his stomach growls, cramps a bit.

 

"I, um." He's never said this to anyone, not even Kurt, never admitted the struggle he's had for longer that he'd care to admit. He knows, deep down he knows from Quinn and Mercedes sharing their stories with the Glee club, and Sam poking at it, what this is. He just...

 

"I don't really eat. Anymore."

 

"Oh." Ema looks much more concerned. She writes something on the notebook in front of her. "For how long?"

 

"Months." Blaine really wishes he could read what she's writing. "A-almost a year, maybe."

 

"How often do you eat? About how many times a day?"

 

"Sometimes once. Sometimes none."

 

"Okay. Was there an event, or something specific to you, almost a year ago?" She puts her pen down, looks back to him. "When it started?"

 

Blaine stops and thinks. This time last year, Kurt was applying to NYADA. He'd just discovered that he was accepted for a callback. New York was so far away, and Blaine had thought about that constantly, and to stop himself, he remembers to wanting to feel any other sensation, physically, to distract him. Exhaustion. Orgasm. Hunger.

 

"I thought—for the first time I realized maybe that Kurt _could_ leave me."

 

"I see. Had you ever had problems eating before that?"

 

Yes, he had; after Tyler got beaten; when he was middle school, trying to slim down to try and fit in; when he was a toddler, even, his mother has said; he was a notoriously picky child, often hiding bits of food he "didn't like" and having a very narrow taste for what he _w_ _ould_ eat.

 

"Yeah." Talking about it is making him feel worse. Nauseous. What would he even puke up? "I think so."

 

She writes in her notepad again.

 

"It's not—" Blaine starts, and while he hesitates, she stops writing. Perhaps sensing his anxiety about her movement. "I don't have a, you know." He lowers his voice. "An _eating disorder._ I'm not like, those model girls who look totally fine but still puke to make themselves fit into samples. I don't really think that I'm fat, or anything like that. It's just..."

 

It's just what?

 

"Okay," Ema says. "This isn't always something that school counselors are really qualified to take, because you know, I'm not a doctor. Not the expert. But a lot of what people think is an eating disorder is what they see on TV. You know, young girls puking into toilets at school. Anorexia. Things like that. When really, there are a lot of different ways that these things can manifest in people. Men too, even though most people assume that it's something that only women go through."

 

She goes into her desk drawer and pulls out a couple of pamphlets, offering them his way. He doesn't take them, at first, because h's seen the pamphlets of hers that Kurt, Finn, Tina, Sam, and Artie have reluctantly taken home from her over the years. They can be a bit. Cartoonish. Insensitive. But he also feels guilty watching her hold them out, so nice, so trying to help. So he takes them, reading the subtitle of the one that sits on top.

 

_EDNOS: Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified_

 

"Eating disorders aren't about body image," Ema says. "From what I understand, to my knowledge, they're about control. When things in our life start go awry, when we feel certain things slipping out from under us, we try to take control of what little things we can. Our appetites can be one of those things."

 

Blaine doesn't say anything.

 

"If you feel comfortable, I have the name of a therapist I can refer you to. If not, I—well, I'd hate to let you walk out of this office knowing that this is something you might need help with. Is there someone you can talk to about this, a family member or friend?"

 

Sam immediately comes to mind. "Maybe."

 

"Okay. Please don't feel like I'm putting something on you that doesn't fit, or isn't appropriate. Only you truly know yourself, and know your needs, and know what's going on. But this is something that can be very dangerous if it isn't tended to carefully. Overall, you know, we just want you to be safe."

 

Blaine leaves Ema's office, after talking to her once more about school, and drives home feeling like maybe he shouldn't have gone to see her. Therapy was supposed to make him feel better, right? So why did he feel right now like his thoughts were racing more than ever?

 

He gets home to an empty house. School's out for his winter break, for a month, but his parents still have to work. They won't be back until five. He starts working on the rest of the Christmas decorations, which his mother began putting up late last night. Soon, he gets a text from Artie.

 

 **Artie:** Sup yo. What you up to?

 

 **Blaine:** Nothing much. Hanging Christmas lights. Bored. You?

 

 **Artie:** The usual. Smokin. Drankin. Wanna come over here?

 

 **Blaine:** Yes, please.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blaine spends most of the next week _not_ thinking about Kurt.

 

Okay, that's a lie.

 

He makes the mistake one morning of going back and re-reading all of his texts from Kurt. He cries, mostly. It's lonely, without him, especially now that school is out. This is the first time since they met, two years ago, that they haven't messaged each other almost every day, or called, or sent a video, or something. It's hard, with his mom knocking on the door of his bedroom every evening around 5 when she gets home from work, to make sure that he's still in. With dinners between he and his parents quiet, awkward, and slow. With no gin in the mornings or evenings to take the edge off; he only drinks when he can slip over to Artie's for a quick afternoon hangout, before the wardens get back. He tries reading a lot, otherwise; fantasy books he hasn't read in a couple years, magazines, forums online. But his thoughts always drift to last time he saw Kurt.

 

He looks at his bed and still sees Kurt sitting there, staring at him waiting for a response, red-faced and heartbroken.

 

His text conversation with Kurt is open pretty much whenever he's on his phone. He keeps trying to say something that will work. Something eloquent. Something that says he doesn't need a break like he thought he does. But how can he go back on what he said?

 

It's the terror of realizing that he and Kurt could not be friends ever again; that the person he wanted to marry, who wanted to marry him back someday, might not be in his life of all because of how depressed and clouded he's feeling just this year. In the future, he'll feel better. Won't he? Shouldn't Kurt know that this  _is_ just a break? That Blaine doesn't want to give up on everything for good?

 

Finally, he thinks,  _it doesn't matter what I say as long as I just say something. I should just...test the waters. See if he's open to talking just a little, about light stuff._ So he texts Kurt something small.

 

 **Blaine:** Hey

 

Immediately regrets it. Kurt doesn't respond.

 

On December 1st, then, Blaine's Google calendar, which is still synced with Kurt's, pings with a notification that Kurt's major class auditions are this afternoon. He was so nervous and excited for that happening.

 

 _So a small, stupid text message didn't work,_  he thinks.  _Why would it? Kurt deserves so much more than that. If i'm going to try and apologize, he deserves romance. I'll surprise him. Kurt loves surprises._

 

So, ill-thought out as it may be unbeknownst to him, he goes to his local florist, picks out some red roses. It's raining hard today; makes him nervous to drive an hour to campus in a storm, but he wants his bold gesture to get to Kurt's door. Even if Kurt doesn't forgive him, even if he isn't ready to accept an olive branch, Blaine is still his friend, or wants to be. He should still do this. 

 

[Blaine enters the theater program building hall, oblivious to someone already inside it, ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11162142/chapters/26851353)shaking off his umbrella. He stares at himself in the reflection of one of the trophy cases on the wall, fidgets with his bowtie a minute. When he eventually looks over to the closed auditorium doors, where he can faintly hear piano, and Kurt singing, Blaine realizes he isn't alone. He jumps a little in his skin.

 

"Hey, sorry, I didn't realize that there was someone else in…Sebastian?"

 

Shit.

 

"Blaine. Didn't know Kurt was expecting you."

 

"He isn't."

 

Blaine clears his throat as he approaches, immediately burning up under his shirt collar. God, of course Sebastian would be here. "What are you doing here?"

 

"Kurt wants me here.” Sebastian is all smug. How stupid was Blaine to give him power, by leaving? “Don't think I can say the same thing about you."

 

"He told me about the audition when we were together." Blaine tries to keep his tone under control, but Sebastian steps a little closer to him, tall and intimidating. "And, you wouldn't know this, but Kurt likes to be surprised. He likes flowers, romance, hand-written notes—and he likes when those things come from me."

 

"Are you dense?" Sebastian laughs. "He doesn't want that shit from you, you dumped him. Or did you hit your thickly-gelled head on the pavement somewhere, forget?"

 

Blaine tries not to let that get to him. Takes a deep breath. "I didn't—it’s not supposed to be a permanent break up."

 

"If you think that a 'surprise visit,' which you call a surprise and I just call creepy, and some stray wilting roses that you picked out of the dirt in your neighbor's garden right before you came here, is going to work like some pathetic, lame apology, then I think you should walk out, and act like you never even came."

 

Okay. This was the last time, he swore it was the last time, that he was going to hope for things between he and Sebastian to ever get better. This was war now.

 

"God, you haven't changed one bit, have you, Sebastian? I was hoping that for your sake, hanging around Kurt would make you less of a dick, but I guess he's still too good for you."

 

"If he wasn't too good for _you_ , you'd still be with him. I know you think you’re special because you can sing and you don’t have a gag reflex, but let's face the facts here, Blaine. Even I have a better chance with him than you do right now, hence the reason that I'm standing here and you're the one on the outside looking in. Dragging yourself in here from the rain like some kind of kicked, whiny puppy, hoping to get a chance to throw him your tacky, washed-up romance and then lick his feet and beg, as meanwhile, I'm the one who's going to be taking him back to his room tonight—”

 

"If you so much as touch him, Sebastian, I swear to god—"

 

"I guess you'll never know if I have already, will you?"

 

Panic rips through Blaine. He feels his throat closing up at that thought.

 

“I know my Kurt." But Blaine knows he's lying. "He'd never want _anything_ to do with you.”

 

“I'm sure.”

 

“And by the way, don't think that I don't know about your little come on to him last month," he continues, in spite. "It didn't work, and it never will. He'd never settle with someone so low."

 

"Well, he settled with you, didn't he?"

 

So much for Blaine's resolve.

 

"You're right."

 

He feels himself wanting to cry, and Sebastian is the worst possible person on earth to cry in front of, probably.

 

"I shouldn't've come," Blaine says, more to himself than the person in front of him. "This was a mistake. He may be upset, and I feel terrible for the way I ended things, too soon, but I'm never going to stop letting Kurt know I love him, even if we aren't together—he deserves to know that I'll always care, and that I'll never forget him. Tell him that when you're taking him back to your room tonight, and sleeping alone."

 

Blaine shoves the roses into Sebastian's hands.

 

"Give these to him if you want, I really don't care." He turns to go. "The next time I see him, I'll make sure you aren't around."

 

But that night, he is tormented. What  _is_ going on between them? Kurt couldn't, wouldn't do it — besides the fact that Sebastian probably has an STD or two, not that Blaine _wishes_ that on him, but he’s seen the way that Seb lives his life, all dangerous sex—Kurt would never do the whole “just a hookup” thing.

 

Would he now?

 

 

 

 

 

The great Cooper Anderson is in town for the holidays a few weeks later. It makes Blaine seriously hate his parents for how loving and supportive they’ve always been with Cooper no matter what crazy scheme he's trying — like dropping out of grad school and moving to L.A. to become _a_ _commercial actor —_ while they can’t seem to pretend to like Blaine genuinely ever.

 

The afternoon that Cooper's flight gets in, Blaine picks his big brother up from the airport. Cooper's all Hollywood sunglasses, black leather jacket, Starbucks latte in hand and waving at people who recognize him from the  _FreeCreditRating.com_ commercials.

 

He stops to take photos with three different people on the way to parking lot. This going to be a long, long Christmas, Blaine thinks.

 

“Little brother," Cooper says, when they get in the car, fasten their belts. "You look—well, I’m sorry to say it, but you look terrible.”

 

“Yeah?" Blaine scoffs. So his brother. But it's true. "Well, I feel terrible. Kurt and I broke up.”

 

“Oh, no, I liked him. He was so squirrel-y and cute. What happened? Did he cheat on you?”

 

“Why would you assume he’d be the one to cheat on me?”

 

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

 

Blaine sighed, started over.

 

“He didn’t cheat. I let the fact that this guy I know’s been flirting with him convince me into thinking he was cheating. I jumped down his throat. I panicked. Called him things I shouldn't've. Pushed him away. And now, he hasn't answered my texts. It wasn't much of _a_ text, but still. I tried to see him, hoping that would work, but when he wasn't around when I stopped by. I left flowers and a note, but I still haven't heard from him. Part of me doesn't want to keep pushing, but it was _me_ who fucked things up, so shouldn't I try? I don't know. I don't know what else to do.”

 

“You want my advice?” Cooper says.

 

Blaine looks over at him. "Yeah?"

 

"You didn't cheat on him. You didn't kick over the potted plants on his porch, screw with any of his stuff. You didn't tell him you were moving to L.A., then tell him to come, then suddenly leave without telling him."

 

"Did you do that?"

 

"So keep apologizing. Kurt seems like a forgiving guy, and you love each other." Cooper puts his hand on Blaine's on the gear shift, which takes Blaine aback a little bit. Cooper's eyes are so blue, so full of empathy. Such an actor, this guy. Or does he really care? "You two have a love for the ages, even if Mom and Dad are too Fox News lately to see it. I see how happy you made each other. Maybe Kurt needs some time, but don't give him time enough to forget you. Don't let this other guy win."

 

Blaine decides, then. _Fuck it. I’m getting him back._ So what if he has EDNOS? So what if he's depressed, and college will be hard? He can do this.

 

[So he calls Kurt, that night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11162142/chapters/27015030). In his head, he's pre-rehearsed it, what he'll say. When he doesn’t get an answer, he tries one more time.

 

Still no answer.

 

The urge to drink to pass the time is heavy, but he couldn't get away with that right now. Downstairs, his parents and Cooper are drinking themselves into fits of laughter, listening to Cooper go on about the house he's renting in West Los Angeles. Blaine, meanwhile, texts Sam and Artie in their group chat on and off.

 

 **Artie:** What’s the mood tonight?

**Sam:**

**Blaine:**

****

**Artie:** Damn y’all, it’s Christmas! Not with you two Scrooges killing my vibe

 **Sam:** christmas was invented by the borgeousie to make poor people feel shitty about being poor

 **Blaine:** Christmas is the most romantic holiday of the year and I just shot my romance point blank in the face.

**Artie:**

****

**Sam:** wait isn’t valentines day the most romantic holiday of the year

 **Blaine:** Maybe, but Christmas is Kurt’s favorite.

 **Sam:** dude kurt's like 100x more romantic than you are.if there's a time to ask for him back its now!!

 **Artie:** Buy him a grip of poinsettias

 **Artie:** Bitches love poinsettias

 **Artie:** Show up at his doorstep with them and pine tree scented lube

 **Artie:** Sing him a carol

 **Sam:** wtf are poinsettias

 **Artie:**  

**Sam:** i thought that was mistletoe???

 **Artie:** You uncultured swine

 

Sam soon starts texting Blaine in their chat alone.

 

 **Blaine:** It can feel like you aren’t really gay if you aren’t in a relationship. I know that’s not true, but because being partnered, being out, is our defining characteristic to society, being single can just feel so. I don't know. Like you're not a part of the community anymore.

 **Sam:**  that makes sense.its like that for straight dudes too

 **Blaine:** Is it though?

 **Sam:** probably not

 **Sam:** has kurt called you back yet

 **Blaine:** I wouldn't be texting you if he did.

 **Sam:** rude

 **Sam:** jk

 **Sam:** keep the faith

 **Sam:** but remember you're your own person with or without Kurt

 **Sam:** you have people who love you whether or not he comes back

 **Sam:** and he loves you too

 **Sam:** even if it is what it is right now

 

He lets Sam’s words soothe him over, for a while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[And then Kurt calls back, four days later.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11162142/chapters/27307272)

 

“Hello? Kurt?” 

 

Blaine is sitting in his bedroom, reading a comic, when he sees Kurt's name on his phone and scrambles to pick it up. Oh, what relief flows through him. This could be a start. They could try again.

 

“ _Hey.”_

 

“Hey." Kurt's voice in his ear makes his heart soar. "It’s been a while. It’s really good to hear your voice.”

 

“ _Is it?”_

 

Blaine stops, at that. So much for the soar.

 

“ _Where have you been?"_  Kurt's voice is broken, ragged. Blaine's heart quickly does a nosedive. He wants to interrupt, try to explain, but _—_ _"Do you have any idea how heartbroken and confused I have been at not hearing from you? I mean, what, have you been soul searching? Dancing it out? What? Because I have been—dying, without answers, for almost three weeks. Wondering what I really did besides love you the best I could, trying to understand why you did this to us.”_

 

“I know." God, Blaine wants to take it back. "Kurt, and I’m so, so sorry. I’ve been keeping myself from you because I knew I needed to think, that what I said when we broke up was really harsh and I needed to try and remedy it, and—I know I messed up, and hurt you really bad, so I—wanted to practice what being without you might feel like forever, in case you hated me for what I did." What is he even saying? "And I did text you, the other day, but—you didn’t answer, so I—”

 

“ _Yeah, ‘hey’? What was I supposed to say to that? ‘Hey, I’ve cried every single day because you suddenly don’t want me,’ ‘Hey, one day you’re telling me that you want to marry me, and the next you’re telling me_ _to get away from you._ _’ I know_ _that you were hurting, that I hurt you without realizing but_ _—to_ _just_ _leave me all alone?_ _To n_ _ot ask how I was doing?_ _You’re supposed to be my best friend._ _Just nothing?”_

 

“Trust me, there has been so much I want to say, but I didn’t want to bombard you with it all over text, I wanted—" he's backtracking, poorly, and he knows it, "to make sure you weren’t so mad at me that you wouldn’t even want to hear it. If you’d answered, and I knew you wanted me to, I would’ve started saying what I wanted to say, what—what I wanna say—“

 

“ _And what is it, that you wanna say, huh?”_

 

Here's his chance. “Kurt, I—”

 

“ _You know what?”_

 

Kurt sniffles.

 

 _“_ _I’m sure it’s_ _very romantic. I’m sure it’s_ _great,_ _and_ _I’m gonna wanna come bo_ lt _ing and bo_ _oking it full speed back into your arms,_ _b_ _ecause I’m_ _this big_ _bleeding sap who loves you_ _more than he loves himself,_ _and_ _who for two years now has wanted so badly to be half, half alive and half a person, so that you and I could be whole together._ _But_ _honestly,_ _I don’t_ _even really_ _see what the point is, now. Not today, not—not anymore.”_

  

“But don’t—“ Blaine knows, then. He knows that it's already too late, that Kurt must’ve realized. He could cry. “D-don’t you still want us to try again, someday? When more time has passed, and we’re both—in a better place, to work through all of this?”

 

“ _Sebastian and I are fucking, Blaine.”_

 

Blaine's heart stops.

 

“ _I mean, we haven’t—officially—but after you completely deserted me for weeks, I thought, ‘what if he doesn’t want to be with me ever again? What if I should be trying to move on, what if I’m missing a really good chance?’”_

 

Then he blows.

 

“God, I can’t believe you’re such a hypocrite!" He's shaking. "You’re here accusing me of wasting our time apart, when meanwhile you’ve been screwing the biggest man whore we’ve ever met? I can’t believe that I’ve been so fucking stupid! To think that you weren’t always sleeping with him behind my back!”

 

“ _You know what? I love you, but you are really, really thick sometimes. You left me, okay, you broke up with me because I didn’t text you enough or whatever, you left when I was mindlessly and hopelessly devoted to you. But there is never going to be any way that I can convince of you that, is there? Because you love being miserable. That’s what it is, you love having an excuse, like I haven’t always been the one chasing you. I mean, it’s like you wanted me to be with him, Blaine. Not once was I going to step out on you, I’ve never wanted anyone but you, but you drove me out of your hands. And sometimes, I think you still see me as the fifteen year old boy who wandered into Dalton, traumatized and bruised and trusting and innocent, looking to you for all my light. But I am not that person anymore. I’m an adult, I want, I have needs, and I can’t be expected to wait around dwindling my thumbs on all your whims, no matter how much I want to. I can’t keep living a half a life and you can’t just waltz in and out on me because you were the first, I’m not your property.”_

 

It's true. He knows it's all true. Kurt knows him so well that he can pinpoint exactly what's going on inside him, and that terrifies him. It’s moments like this that make Blaine feel like his love and his hate are vacillating. He knows it’s not hatred he feels barreling towards Kurt, but whatever it is is so fucking strong, towards himself in the past and the situation and Sebastian. He can’t contain it.

 

Cruel, damning words he doesn’t mean come overflowing.

 

“He is going to ruin you, Kurt. Mark my words, you won’t be happy with him. He is going to use you and fuck with you and wring you out until you’ve got nothing left, and who knows, if I’ll even recognize you then? You are too good and too smart to compromise yourself and lower yourself for him, because I made a _nothing_ mistake. But you go ahead, knock yourself out. Don’t come crawling back to me when you’re broken.”

 

“ _I won’t!”_

 

 

 

 

 

Kurt had a right to move on. Angry as Blaine is, lying there afterwards, he knows that's a fact. But he absolutely thinks Kurt is a hypocrite for hating Sebastian’s underhanded ways all that time, and then falling for them at the drop of a hat when subjected to them himself.

 

Blaine admits he let things go a little bit too far with Sebastian when he was in the chair, played bashful and coy with him a bit too much for comfort and never heard the end of it from Kurt. But _he_ didn’t ever want to actually sleep with him.

 

That night, he can’t find sleep, for hours; when he does, they are sleep paralysis nightmares. Him trying to get out of bed in his bedroom, but his limbs too heavy and thick to lift, trying with all his might to sit up because Kurt is sitting at the edge of the bed, just staring at him. Wordless and beautiful eyes boring into him all “why did you hurt me? why did you do this?” Blaine should’ve known he would regret this in the pit of his fucking soul.

 

He drags himself out of these repetitive visions three times through the night, then takes the flask from his bedside table, sneaks to his parents' bar. Fuck it if he gets caught now. What does he have to lose? He takes gin into the flask, drinks it on his way up the stairs, until he's so hot and woozy that he knocks out.

 

But the dream that he has next is vindictive to him. He is lying on his back in his bed in it, but the reason he can’t get up is because his wrists are tied to the headboard; only this time, Kurt and Sebastian are both naked in front of him. Laughing to each other.

 

“He’s so pliable,” Dream Kurt says, eyes sweeping down Blaine's body. "So simple. Don't you think?" Sebastian is kissing his neck, one arm around Kurt's hip, the other coaxing his cock.

 

"So pathetic, more like," says Dream Sebastian.

 

Dream Blaine looks down at himself, sees himself becoming aroused by their insults.

 

Kurt moves in towards Blaine, props himself above him, sliding inside him, starting to give it to him slow. Kurt thrusts once, twice, a third time, and then comes, as Sebastian strokes himself behind them, watches them. Dream Blaine has always wondered what Sebastian looks like naked. Dream Kurt knows this. Then, Kurt shifts back, kissing Sebastian, open mouth and all tongue. Blaine pulls at his restraints, wishing he could stop them and sit on top of them simultaneously. Then, Sebastian takes Kurt's place; stoops to Blaine's level, tells him he's going to be "such a good fuck, aren't you?" Smiles, wicked. Uses Kurt's come already in him to glide his path.

 

Blaine wakes up covered in sweat, more confused than he's ever been about anything, and hates himself for the way wants to finish himself off, to that dream.

 

Instead, he pulls the covers over his burning face. Hears Kurt telling him all over again,

 

_"There is never going to be any way that I can convince of you that, is there? Because you love being miserable."_

 

He had this coming.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas is not as bad as Blaine thought it might be, given what's happened. What he's done to his own life. Cooper gives a heartfelt speech that morning, before tree-round gift-giving, about how the Andersons have never been perfect  _—_ "and honestly, I want us all to work on getting closer this year. I really do." _—_ but they have love for each other, and then starts the ceremony off by presenting Blaine with the first gift. It's a black leather jacket almost just like the one Cooper wears to and fro as much as he can; Blaine doesn't know if it's quite his taste, but he loves the weight of it, the thick, expensive feel, and the way he knows it'll keep him warm, if he ends up going to Boston, D.C. or New Haven for school in the fall. 

 

Blaine buys his parents each a new laptop case, which they'd specifically requested, two new matching sets of electric slippers, and his mother some jewelry. They buy him more cashmere sweaters, shirts, ties and jeans than he could ever need. And finally, Blaine gives Cooper his gifts, which are a smartwatch and a manip video collage he made, with Artie's help, of him appearing in commercials with Flo from Progressive.

 

For the rest of the day, as he and Cooper perform Christmas carols for their parents on the grand piano, and they wall watch holiday specials together on TV, Blaine tries not to be ungrateful, by thinking of Kurt, wishing he'd be here. It's hard, though. He woke up that morning, wakes up every morning, feeling a weight on his chest, physical, heavy pain.

 

Kurt is already having sex with someone else. It was that easy for him.

 

He doesn't want Kurt hurt. He'd said it, but only because he'd been so jealous. Was currently boiling in jealous. He doesn't know enough about Sebastian to know that Kurt is really in safe hands, or if they're using protection, or if Kurt  _—_ god, can he stop thinking about this?

 

He can't, though, because the awful words he said to Kurt are just piling onto his regrets, and all he wants is to wake up to Kurt in his bed, in his arms, even though he could just hate him for moving on.

 

But how could Kurt forgive him for wishing on him the worst?

 

On New Years Eve, Artie's mom is having a party. She's known to let Artie and his friends drink champagne, and then some, with the adults' light supervision at these parties. When Blaine goes to his mother to ask to go  _—_ Artie's told him that if Blaine's mom needs to talk to his mom, "we got you," _—_ he's surprised that she says yes, though with that phone call. She briefly speaks to Ms. Abrams on Blaine's phone, nods and asks a couple questions, and then gives him her permission, handing the phone back to him.

 

"Blaine?" She calls on him before he leaves the dining room. He turns to look at her, as she takes off her glasses, folds her hands under her chin. Actually smiles.

 

"I'm proud of you."

 

Blaine feels like he hasn't heard her say that in a long time. "You are?"

 

"I am. I know your father and I are tough, but your grades came, in the mail." She picks the letter up from the stack of papers she has in front of her on the table. "You got straight A's."

 

Blaine breathes a sigh of relief.

 

"Well, I'm glad I could make you and Dad happy."

 

He's about to turn to go again, but he suddenly feels he wants to tell her something.

 

"Mom?" he says. "Kurt and I broke up."

 

She looks on him for a moment, thinking of what to say. Then, finally, just,

 

"I'm sorry, honey."

 

That night, at the party, which hosts most of the Old and New Directions that are in town, too, Blaine sits on the couch in Artie's bedroom, staring at the ceiling. He's wanted to be alone for the past hour; hasn't wanted to be too drunk, either. He's pacing himself, only somewhat tipsy. He even ate a few hors d’oeuvres, earlier. He made himself.

 

"Hey, man." Sam enters the slightly cracked door, his white dress shirt unbuttoned halfway, glittery new years top hat and gold beads around his neck. He has a champagne glass in his hands. "You missed it. It's 12:03. New year."

 

Sam comes to sit down on the couch, handing Blaine the glass. He takes it, gratefully, and then sips it down.

 

"All I can hope is that this year is better than last." Blaine feels the buzz start to crawl up to his head as he looks at Sam's skin, all flushed, under his shirt. "Did you make a resolution?"

 

"Nah. Couldn't think of anything. Did you?"

 

"Nope."

 

Sam swings his arm around the back of the couch; this put Blaine not but a few inches from resting his head against Sam's chest, if he were to lean over just a touch. He feels heat bloom in his cheeks at that thought. Sam's hot, but they're just best friends.

 

Right?

 

“C’mere,” Sam says, then. Ruffles Blaine's hair, pulls him into a playful chokehold as Blaine laughs, struggles playfully against him. “I love you.”

 

Kisses the top of his head, and then his forehead. “Seriously.”

 

And then, Sam's kissing his lips. 

 

Sam is really good at this. Damn. Blaine's head is swimming, half full of fireworks and half panicked telling him to stop doing this, to ask what the hell — doesn't Sam like girls? should this be happening? — but instead, Blaine lets himself feel up on someone else. Not just anybody else. Sam has his hands on Blaine's jaw, they're tongue kissing, so Blaine lets his hands graze Sam's chest where his shirt is open. Shit, is his body fantastic. Blaine can’t pretend he hadn’t fantasized about something like this: the hot, straight, football player type you know you have not a chance in gay hell with finally letting alcohol and a party allow him to explore his own bi-curiosity.

 

For all that, to Blaine's knowledge, Sam has never been with a man before, he's not afraid to let his hands roam over Blaine's body, for them to undress each other. For his blue eyes to watch Blaine as he goes down on him, stroking his hair; for him to reach into Blaine's black slacks, into his boxers, and give him a hand job to finish him off. They pass out on top of each other, after, Sam beneath Blaine on the couch, Blaine's head atop Sam's chest, where he can hear Sam's heart beating, hard. Feel his own beating, hard. They should probably talk about this. Right? But Blaine's too drunk, not even from the champagne, but from the excitement, to contest their current position; he does shift up a bit to look Sam in the eye, and Sam looks back down at him. All Sam does is smile between his panting breaths, run a hand through Blaine's hair once more. Blaine puts his head back down. They fall asleep.

 

When Blaine wakes up, Sam's already across the room, re-buttoning his shirt. Blaine shifts around on the couch, looking for his phone to check the time. It's seven.

 

Sam's not looking at him, even though he hears that he's awake.

 

"Should we talk?" Blaine says. "About last night?"

 

Sam sighs, finally looks up at him. “Yeah, I’m—I'm sorry."

 

"What for?"

 

"I still love you, but. I think the guy thing was just a one-off thing for me.”

 

"Okay."

 

Blaine watches him leave, and then against his better judgment, stays on the couch. Wallowing in what happened, wondering why he can't ever just do things that _don't_ make everything ten times worse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When he gets home, he finds a note from his mother for him on the fridge, telling him that she, Cooper and his dad drove to Dayton, to take Cooper to the museum, and to go shopping, for the day. Artie is having people back over for New Years Day, so Blaine decides he'll go back. He doesn't want to be alone, right now.

 

Blaine knows that the plan had been for Sam and Mercedes to come to Artie's house, too, today, but the couple has apparently decided to go out alone instead. Blaine can only imagine what kind of conversations they may have. About him. He’s so sick about it, he can’t eat or drink. And he’s sworn off alcohol, for the rest of the day, certianly. Maybe forever. He just has to deal with his feelings stone cold sober, today.

 

“Puck and Finn are on their way over,” Artie says to Blaine, wheeling back into the kitchen, where Blaine sits at the table. “But something is going on with you and Sam, I can tell it. Spit it out, yo.”

 

Blaine doesn't know how Artie knows this, but hell if he's going to try and deny it now.

 

“We were—intimate, the other night. Not sex, no, you know, but, like—I gave him a blow job? He came in my mouth.”

 

“Hot damn.”

 

Artie pulls himself back into his spot at the table, taking the deck of cards they were playing with in his hands and shuffling. Looking down at his work as he says the following:

 

“Well, I can’t help saying that I’m actually kind of jealous. If anyone was going to be the first for you after Kurt, I honestly hoped that it'd be me.”

 

Blaine stares at him. Wonders as he often does how much of this is Artie just joking. Wait. Is this Artie coming out to him?

 

“But Sam’s not gay, right?" Artie says. "‘Cause I mean, my gaydar’s getting pretty damn good, and as much as I wish he played on our team? Not getting any pings.”

 

So this was Artie coming out to him. “He’s not gay," Blaine says. "That’s why things are weird.”

 

“Well, hey, don’t sweat it, a’ight? You guys’ll work it out. We always do.”

 

Later on in the night, as he, Puck, and Finn play card games, and he still has no booze, Blaine does find himself sort of wishing it’d been Artie instead. At least more of the sentiment would’ve actually reciprocated. Now though, he figures he couldn’t withstand the fallout of _two_ inappropriate rebound hookups with his best friends. Now though, he can’t get the image of the blonde all unabashed and lust-struck out of his head.

 

When he wakes up the next morning, back at his house, he sees Mercedes is calling him.

 

 _“Blaine Warbler Anderson,"_ she says, all playful-toned, _"what the_ hell _did you think you were doing with my Sam?”_

 

Blaine opens his mouth to respond, but finds himself stuck. He can't tell on the phone if she's mad or not, despite her language, because her voice is always so musical and joyful.

 

“Mercedes, I am so, so sorry. I never meant for that to happen, to come between your guys’ relationship. It was stupid and selfish of me, and I fully chock it up being so upset about Kurt and _not_ about the fact that it was Sam in particular. But that doesn’t mean that I can just take advantage of other people to work through my stuff. Although, I mean—he did kind of kiss me first. But..."

 

Mercedes sighs, light, conversational. _"Well, we aren't really_ together. _”_

 

“Are you not?”

 

_“But still, I don't know how I feel about him never really telling me 'til now that this was a thing for him. I guess I just have a lot think about. So does Sam. Clearly. Also, while I still have you? Why on earth did you just end things so suddenly with Kurt?”_

 

He can’t say it without wanting to punch something in near him. Himself mostly.

 

“It just—wasn’t working, at the time. I made a mistake, thinking we couldn't get through it. I guess he's moved on. And that's—that's all I can really say.”

 

_“Mm-hm. Well, all right. You know I've seen his latest Facebook pictures all lovey-dovey-rubby with Sebastian. I love my boy and all, but I do think that move is kind of funny. It's hard to believe.”_

 

Blaine does it, even though he knows he shouldn't; goes to Facebook and sees that Kurt was tagged in several photos by Tina, their friend Rachel, and Sebastian; all of them out on a foursome date, cute and cozy. Sebastian has his arm around Kurt, Kurt's head is on his shoulder. They look good.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The first day of school comes back soon enough. Blaine and Sam have to come face to face, after having not seen each other the rest of the break. Blaine's at his locker before his first period when Sam comes to him there, same as usual.

 

“Hey," Sam says.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Look, I don’t want things to be weird between us. Any weirder than they probably already are. But I'm really, really sorry for what I did. I don’t know if you’ve like, told anyone, or anything, but you totally can, if you want to. I embrace what I did. What _we_ did. It wasn’t right, but it happened. I mean it when I say I love you, Blaine.”

 

Blaine knows that; he hasn't thought about it as much as he thought he would have, and also knows that he was as much of an actor in it as Sam was. He could've stopped them at any point. He hadn't wanted to yet. 

 

“Well, first of all, I would never tell anyone," Blaine says. "We’ll just chock it up to a mistake caused by too much drinking and my break up, that only you and I—and, um, Artie—will ever know about.”

 

Sam's nervous expression folds, then, and he exhales. Holds up his fist for Blaine to dap. Blaine does so.

 

As they walk down the hall, then, cool and quiet, Sam says to him,

 

"I decided my New Years Resolution is stop drinking. You should think about it too. It'd prob'ly help us."

 

So they came to an arrangement about things. But the rest of the school day, Blaine can’t help the overwhelming sadness, like he's never going to get over Kurt, or move on for himself, or find another guy he likes who isn't straight, or ever feel like he did at the height of Kurt's love for him.

 

Will it never stop plaguing him? The thought of Kurt and Sebastian flirting, working at a real adult relationship while he was still the fool back stuck in high school, watching from the background?

 

That day, then, in the choir room, he feels like breaking, like he needs to let out. Let it go. He finally lets the room hear his passionate, tearful rendition of [“We are life” by Emarosa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQAMlBczD0Q), his solo contender. Artie lightly strums his electric behind him.

 

“I ache, it’s opening my soul.

“I ache, it’s opening.

 

“Speak what we feel,

“And not what we ought’a say.

“Well I’m forever young,

“And you’re forever you.

“So much to say,

“With nothing to hide,

“Oh, please, open it all.

“Soft voice, that whispers lies,

“Who do I lay beside?

“Soft voice, soft voice,

“That whispers life.

“Well, I don’t wanna see it anymore,

“Too bad he’s not me and these feelings you just can’t ignore.

“But I won’t be played a fool."

 

Finally, he feels his body starting to let go of its tension. All the pain, weight, and devastation, the emotions that have pressed on him every morning he's been up since; the only way he could ever really access himself deeply, move past pain, was if he belted it at the top of his lungs like this.

 

"Did you count? How many times

"The words left my mouth?

"So many times I was pressed on top.

"You never pushed me off.

"As much as it hurts to admit,

"You choked.

“But I don’t wanna see it anymore,

“Too bad he’s not me and these feelings you just can’t ignore.

“But I won’t be played a fool,

“No matter how hard you try.

“These words won’t save me.

“Please stop, and mind your space,

“Soft hands that would ruin lives,

“And eyes that would burn,

“Fall to your knees.”

 

"You pretend

"Not to see

"Our problems

"Because they form inside you." 

 

Sam gets up and hugs him tight immediately after finishing the last note. Everyone else comes and group hugs him too, following.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Sam?"

 

Two weeks later, Blaine and Sam are on Artie's couch playing Halo. Blaine's started to feel normal, again, as much as he can for this much time having passed. Artie's rolled out of the room a minute, to get them more snacks, so Blaine finally says it.

 

"I think I have an eating disorder."

 

Sam puts the game on pause, looks at him, serious.

 

"Okay. Thank you for telling me."

 

"Ms. Pillsburry says I should I have someone to keep me accountable for it. So that's you. You're accountable."

 

Sam nods. "Think I can handle that."

 

He stands up suddenly.

 

"What’s your favorite thing you've ever had to eat, like, ever, in your life? The thing you can’t help but, like, shove your face in every time you see it?"

 

"Uh?" Blaine laughs, touched by the enthusiasm. "I don't know. There's this place I really used to love as a kid. It's called Barbella's. They had this endless spaghetti."

 

"Okay. Let's go out to dinner."

 

"Right now?"

 

"Yeah. Unless you think it'll make it worse."

 

"No, I don't think so."

 

They drive all the way to Westerville to eat at this place Blaine went to for the last time when he was thirteen—("I'm taking Blaine on a date!" Sam called to Artie, as they walked out of the house, "we'll be right back!" "Okay, damn!")—for this dish he absolutely did love when he was small. This was he and Cooper's favorite place, where they always went on Fridays, and Sam isn't making it a big deal, his not eating, talking like normal and keeping him occupied as the food comes.

 

Blaine eats. It's so good, mouth-watering, cheesy-goodness that even though he wants to feel like he’s losing something as it goes down—he  _does_ feel that, the anxiety that his fullness will be a loss—it is a milestone. 

 

Sam takes him back to Artie's afterwards. They stay in the car a moment, though, Blaine trying to think of how best to express his thank yous, and Sam, well—it would seem like Sam wanted to kiss him. He doesn’t, though. They share that look, like the one they'd had the night, but instead Sam goes in for the hug. Blaine's grateful, even with the tiny sting of rejection he feels. They go back inside, join Artie, and have fun.

 

Blaine realizes then that this is his other, grand-scale problem: he always feels the need to be in love with  _someone._ Before it was Kurt, it was Tyler. Before that, it was the idea of having a boyfriend, like he wasn't gay if he couldn't get one.

 

He felt, as he once texted Sam, without even realizing the gravity of having admitted this to another person, that his identity needed to be tied with another person's.

 

No longer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blaine goes the next two months without actively thinking about some guy loving him; without imagining Kurt as the star of his fantasies, and without imagining Sam in them, either. Having no one to be interested in as he works on his eating and disordered thinking.

 

He's been seeing Ema regularly, once a week or two. Ema asks in one of their sessions if Blaine will write a letter to Kurt. One that he doesn’t have to send.

 

“Apologize for what you said, tell him how you really feel. Then, one day, if you feel like he wants to talk, you can give it to him. Or not. It's up to you. But it can be cathartic to say what you couldn't say in a moment where maybe, you weren't emotionally mature enough to handle what was happening at the time. Anyway, I think it would be a really good exercise for where we are in your progress right now. Does that sound okay?"

 

"Yeah. Okay."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Kurt,_

 

_You once told me that I helped save your life. Well, you helped save mine, too. Even if we can’t be together in the end, ever again, I will always love you for this: for being the strong one for me after the facade I put up at Dalton faded, after you realized I was the one still running away from bullies; for being my rock, for hearing me cry, for making a high school place that could be full of hope and light again, after I was so scared of what I did to Tyler that I didn't want to go on._

 

_I have no right to not wish you happiness with Sebastian. I don’t want you to be ruined by him. Am I scared that you will be? Not just by him, but by someone someday? Sometimes. But again, I don’t have that right. Because the worst thing for me to imagine is you in pain and lonely. The last time we talked, you said that that was how I made you feel. That’s why it's such a contradiction I said those things._

 

_I was angry, and I was hurt. I’m sorry. I have unrealistic expectations about how other people are supposed to make me feel, and there's a lot of work that I've needed to do on myself. That I'm doing now._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the first of March, Blaine throws away his flask. He then calls to ask Cooper why he gave it to him.

 

As they talk, he realizes that their parents' high expectations for them have also done a number on Cooper, but perhaps in a different way. They are both misguided; the fact that Cooper thought that was an appropriate gift for his fifteen year old brother? They laugh about it, now.

 

 _“I kind of had to raise you,”_ Cooper says, _“and I was a shitty parent."_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the end of March, it’s Regionals. Blaine and Sam sing “Sunshine Song” the way Sam has always dreamed it up; Marley and Artie lead the group in an ensemble number to "Work" by Rihanna; and Blaine closes the New Directions' performance with his solo of "We are life."

 

Though Mr. Scheuster and the gang have high hopes, the New Directions inevitably lose. To the Warblers. In the green room afterwards, everyone is still pretty chipper despite, especially after a rousing speech from Artie about how "it's not the destination, but the journey that is all the fun." 

 

Blaine and Sam pack their duffle bags back up with costumes and dancing shoes as they get ready to head towards the bus.

 

“God, losing to the Warblers this year just feels—so cruel, given all I’ve been through this year," Blaine says, though he doesn't really mean it so much. "I can’t stop seeing Sebastian’s face in one of those blazers, laughing at me as he takes the most wondrous trophy of all.”

 

"Ah, fuck those guys," Sam says. "The trophy is the journey or whatever Artie said back there."

 

"It's cool, though," Blaine says. "It's cool, and I'm gonna get over it, and I'm gonna live happy life when I graduate, all healthy and forward-thinking and all that."

 

"There you go. That's the spirit."

 

Sam takes Blaine out to eat after the competition, his treat. It's there at Breadstix, so casual, almost so casual that Blaine doesn't hear it, that Sam admits to his best friend that he probably was never straight.

 

“I can’t be, I mean—" Sam laughs. "I still think about that night, about us. I was, like. Rock hard, the entire time. But more than that, I am attracted to you. So, I don’t know, maybe I’m just like—“ His face slides into a goofy grin. “Blainesexual or something.”

 

“Stop it.”

 

“But I’m not telling you this to, like. I don't know. You should definitely be with a guy who knows a hundred percent that he likes dick. And I know you're going to school, and you don't wanna be a in a relationship, but I just thought I should let you know anyway, that—my feelings changed.”

 

They take a couple more bites, before Blaine says,

 

“So you figured things out, then, with you and Mercedes?”

 

“Oh, yeah. Totally. The reason she and I were never really together is because she’s saving herself for marriage. Like, won’t even let me touch the outside of the folds and stuff. Which is awesome, I respect her so much for that, and I love her so much. But we weren’t ready to be getting married any time soon, and I was crazy riled up and horny, like, all the time. But we've always understood each other really well, and been able to talk, so it was cool, once I told her about how I felt about questioning and stuff. She understands. And the best part is, she still gets to be one of my closest friends, no matter what.”

 

Afterwards, Sam drives Blaine back to his house. As they pull into the driveway, Blaine sees the postman leaving a sizable letter in the Anderson mailbox.

 

"Look at that," Sam says. "Think it's a college letter?"

 

"It might be. I've been expecting them."

 

Blaine and Sam get out and Blaine opens the mailbox, finds the letter from Emerson College and tears it open, reads the announcement that not only has he been accepted, but they're giving him a full ride.

 

"Blaine Anderson, you kick ass!" Sam hugs him, lifting him up in the air and all. "So proud of you, you smart kid."

 

Blaine kisses him, on the way back down; nothing much, not like before, but he does feel his heart swell; feels comfortable, safe, like it doesn't have to mean everything, or the end of the world.

 

Sam pulls back from, smiles.

 

“Yep. Blainesexual.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Weeks after that, Blaine's begun packing the contents of his bedroom. He's lived in this house in Ada for most of his life. There are a lot of things he realizes are missing. Kurt's borrowed a lot, sweaters and t-shirts and pajamas and novels of his, that he thinks he'll want to read while he's at school.

 

And he's thought about Kurt, recently. Blaine knows that he and Sebastian are definitely boyfriend and boyfriend now. Facebook still shows him what they're up to. Recently, Sebastian's father passed away. Blaine didn't even know that Sebastian's dad was sick.

 

The letter that Blaine wrote Kurt has been sitting atop his dresser. He forgot about it, for a couple of weeks, but today, he finds it again beneath his watches and his tub of hair gel. 

 

Maybe, now, it's time.

 

He calls Kurt, hoping to ask for his things back as politely as he can, and mostly, to apologize.

 

 _“Blaine?”_  

 

Kurt answers, and Blaine's heart does something strange. Not unlike those times before, when it felt heavy, but it also feels love again. Overwhelming love.

 

_"How are you?”_

 

“I’m, uh." Oh, shit. Is he really going to cry? Kurt sounds happy, even just those few words that he's spoken. "I’m good. And you?”

 

_“Good, good.”_

 

“I’m sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if maybe, some time soon, we could meet up so I could get some of my stuff back from you? It’s not—necessarily that I don’t want you to have it, it’s just. I’m moving soon.”

 

_“Oh? Where to?”_

 

“Boston. I got into Emerson College, full ride.”

 

_“Wow, great. That’s so great. I’m proud of you.”_

 

“How are, um _—_ " Here they were, the nostalgic tears falling. "How are you and Sebastian?”

 

_“Good, happy, I’m, we’re—we’re happy.”_

 

“Good. That’s good." He'll keep saying it until that's true for him. "You guys are, like. Together, now, right?”

 

 _“I mean. We never actually asked each other, but, I guess—we didn’t have to? It kind of started after my theater audition. He was just really supportive that day, from then on, and—I’m sorry,”_ he says, then, trying to be sensitive. _“Are you really okay, hearing this?”_

 

He's as okay as he can be.

 

“I was there that day, Kurt." No harm in telling about this now. "The day of your audition. While you were inside, I found him standing out there waiting for you, and I’m guessing he didn’t give you the flowers from me, huh?”

 

_“Those were from you?”_

 

Of course, Sebastian didn't give Kurt the flowers _for_ him. What exactly did Blaine think was going to happen? 

 

 _“Oh. I didn’t—"_  Kurt sounds like he's smiling, or trying to keep from laughing. It's contagious in his voice. _"Believe me, I didn’t know he_ stole _those from you.”_

 

It is funny, now that Blaine thinks about it. He'd really thought that was a good idea at the time. So stupid.

 

“You know what?” he says. He laughs, too.“I’m not surprised. People like him, with—money, and looks, they do whatever they want, and they get away with it. They win, you know? They always win.”

 

_“Well, you know about his dad, and all of that happening.”_

 

“Mm hm. I heard.”

 

_“I’m not—for one minute, I’m not saying that’s an excuse for what he did, don’t think that—I’m just saying, I’m gonna talk to him about it, and I’m embarrassed for him. But it might not be today, or this week, or anything.”_

 

“You don’t—have to do that, dig it all up again, on my behalf. It was months ago, and really, would you have? Would you have taken me back, at that point?”

 

_“I don’t know.”_

 

In the silence that follows, Blaine feels it one more time. That heavy, heart-crushing hurt. But what Kurt says to him next smooths some of it over:

 

 _“But I wish I could talk with you like normal_. _I_ _know things got really messed up, but I miss you, Blaine. I do. Your sense of humor, and hearing whatever song you’re perfecting, and hearing about all your drama with your hair. I miss you, as my friend.”_

 

 _“_ I miss you too, Kurt. But it’s just—still too much for me right now. You and him. I wish I could be more supportive, but I can’t act like everything is normal. It hurts too much. But. I know, or at least I hope, that I won’t feel this way forever. I do want us to be friends. It’s been hard, imagining a life that doesn’t have you in it. And I’m sorry, for the way I reacted when you told me, in December. You were right. It was me, who pushed you away. I know that I’m the only one to blame for losing you.”

 

 _“Thank you. And j_ _ust let me know, if you’re ever ready again. There will always be a place in my heart for you.”_

"Thanks, Kurt. Goodbye."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's a hot summer day in June when Kurt comes by the Anderson house, equipped with a box of Blaine's things. Blaine meets him out on the porch, taking the box and placing it inside behind him.

 

"When do you leave?" Kurt says.

 

"July. I thought I'd move early, check out the college town. Do a little sight seeing around Boston. My parents, Cooper and Sam are coming out with me, too. I'm really looking forward to it."

 

"That sounds like fun."

 

"I saw that you and Sebastian are moving to New York."

 

"Yep! We're taking a road trip. Our new place is in Greenwich Village, and it's tiny, but, well, that's New York for you. He's gonna get a job, and I'll have a little money each semester from my loan leftovers."

 

"Cool. Congratulations."

 

A moment of silence passes, in which Blaine watches Kurt's face, that lovely, expressive face. He looks sad, for a moment, then pushes that away, then smiles, and says,

 

"Can I hug you?"

 

Blaine's surprised, a little bit, that Kurt wants to, but he gives, of course he gives; Kurt holds onto him for a while, and Blaine does back, longer than either of them though they would.

 

When Kurt steps back, he's crying a little bit.

 

"I really wish you good luck," he says. "Thank you. For everything."

 

Blaine watches him go, feeling like he couldn't have ever imagined that it would feel like this. Letting him go. It feels nostalgic, and sad, this wasn't what they planned, but Blaine wants more than anything, has always wanted Kurt to make it out of Ohio. To find love, happiness, and professional success. Blaine's helped on his way to doing that, even if he won't be there for the end of it. For that, Blaine is grateful.


End file.
